Sleeps The Bloom Poem by Rebekah Gamble

Now sleeps the rose in wilted age.
Once where she bloomed
is a tender grave
and crimson petals rest on the grass.
Her age and loneliness have a kinship with me,
regardless of the youth of my flesh;
my heart seems ancient and withered
from test and trial.
Now sleeps the petals on the grass,
but how I should have liked a kinship with them!
How I would have liked to pull such a bloom
to my bosom, to my own heart!
If only love were not the sister of pain
and sleep the brother of death!
If only love was not death itself!
Now sleeps my heart in wilted want
for a friend unafraid of such kinship.
If I could have pulled it to me, this sleeping rose,
what bloom I could have been!
Now sleeps the rose in wilted age.
Once where she bloomed
is a tender grave
and crimson petals rest on the grass.
The grass that covers over me.

23 February 2oo8