Roses
A poem about some of the beautiful roses in the garden at Sissinghurst and a tribute to Vita Sackville-West.
Pauls' Lemon Pillar clambers upwards,
soft straw clustered sweet illusions,
yellowed bursting outskirts whisper wistful regrets.
Blush Damask, of silky youth
and inexplicable associations,
flushed ,engorged, suffused, stumbles into intimacy.
Golden Wings of yellow cups
cradling stamens of burnished henna,
celestial urchins, inveigle sweet liaison.
Brazen crimson Dusky Maiden,
self-possessed dramatic passion,
incants euphoric restitution.
Vita, you linger here
among the heady scents and joyous blooms,
reflections of your being.
