The Missing Rose

The Missing Rose
Here I am in this coastal city of pirates and thieves
where rich and poor alike are daily robbed
of all but the sight of countless flowers.
I float in a cosmic sea of blossoms and leaves
whose beauty and essence pervades my being.
That, I am. Yes, I am that.
Do you think I’d wish to rob anyone of a flower?
I’d rob myself doing that!
Let me ponder the mystery of a missing rose
when I created your wife’s bouquet.
Ah, yes. Now I clearly see…
In another time and place, I was a missing Rose
plucked young and fresh from the Isles.
I lived in a Viking poem long ago—
a scald’s few word of plunder taken.
Even now I feel that freezing terror
awakened by raiders from the sea.
How I hated to be owned and used
and valued less than a good sword!
Now I know I’m here to forgive and forget—
and so I do.
Will you forgive me for my ‘oversight’  too?
July, 2000
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