The Wind and The Rose

Once, a long time ago

In a walled garden, there grew

The most wondrous bloom,

A blood red rose.

 

People came from far and wide

To gaze upon the bloom.

The gardener was pleased to show off

His prize, its beauty emanating

From deep within.

 

The wind which blew high above

the clouds, had fallen in love with the rose.

Hopeless though he knew it was,

He wild and without body,

And she, gentle but immobile.

But still,

He loved her.

 

Every morning as she awoke

The wind would brush past her,

Softly caressing her open petals

And tasting her sweet scent.

Then from time to time

Blowing away the clouds,

So the sun could pour down

Illuminating her brilliance.

 

When people came to see her

The wind too was proud,

It warmed his wild heart.

 

Then one day, a man came

The wind saw him at once

He knew it wasn’t the gardener,

A deep coldness filled the air.

Before the wind could realize it,

The man had plucked the rose.

And he ran away with it,

The wind at his heels.

 

Through the garden and over the wall,

Down a path and over a bridge,

But the wind failed to stop him.

 

The wind returned to the garden

Almost expecting to see the rose

But sadness filled him, and

He knew he would never see her again.

 

The wind cried,

Weeping bitterly,

`oh that I might be turned to stone`.

And tears like rain

Filled the skies.

 

 An adaptation from the `wind and the rose`.

 

 

Reviews

[Hoosier Belle]

Simply amazing! Your imagery is so beuatiful. awesome!

[bookworm]

I really appreciate the surprise of this poem. I love your description of the way the wind loves the rose. Very sensual yet even more substantial than that. Devoted. Admiring. I love the part about the wind returning to the garden expecting to see the rose. That is such a common human response to loss. Well put. Thank you for sharing.