Curled against the chill,
The bud huddled as well as it might,
Atop the thin but sturdy stem,
Against the encroaching night,
Petals held tightly together,
Leaves trapping a little heat,
You could imagine,
Stem, stamping its rose feet
Suddenly appeared,
An admiring eye,
A gentle artistic soul,
Hand quick with lens and light
The rose stood tall
With pride and patience
The camera flashed,
The near hushed, hurried dance.
The night closed in once more
The little flower,
Tingled in the wind
Time marched past
The bud, curled against the chill
My angular and wandering travels....
- Wayne Cook
- Duncanville, TX, United States
- I'm an international person, having spent 6+years of my youth in various Central and South American countries. Within my occupation as a television engineer, I've since traveled back to Mexico several times to film various religious sites, to Ireland to film a video documentary on the life of St. Patrick, to Portugal and England. Each time I took hundreds of pictures, wrote songs and poems about the things I saw and heard and felt go on around me, and tried to absorb a sense for what people in each locale thought. How they love, how they see, how they think.... My other sites: www.myspace.com/mothtoacandle http://community.webshots.com/user/waynocook www.soundclick.com/eddieaustin
1 comment:
Wonderful poem Wayne, I didn't expect that a B & W rose bud inspires you so much...You are just...great, my friend!
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