Allegory (of a Climbing Rose)
Autumn words mean September sighs
And December saying, “Sorry,”
As snow begins to cover any bare essence still blooming.
You’re trying too hard
To brush flakes off the dying stems of roses
That pricked us when we admired them.
In springtime we planted this vine
To symbolize our love
(And to cut down on the florist’s bill).
You said to be tender with the vine;
Touch, caress the leaves but not the petals.
And when you weeded around its roots
It stabbed you
Until I could pry you loose.
Then in summer
I helped you nourish it
Because we feared drought
And we had to protect the symbol
Of our irony.
We became proud of an achievement
That should have come naturally,
And the exhibition of our vine became vital,
Just to confirm our suspicions that
Vines like ours are made, not born –
Then, of course, the petals began to fall away
One by one
Until nothing was left
But several brown extensions
Where you will finally allow
The snow to gather.
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