The Last Rose Blooms

The last rose blooms
in rare weather; it takes
rain and sunshine,
good times deferred
bad days and first frost
and luck; good soil,
good stock.

The fading glory appeals
to older eyes; wiser tastes
applaud and accept
its rich fragility,
the final beauty adorning
our autumn days
with grace.

It weathered spring storms
and summer torrents
the sun's relentless beating
and the shade
until it put forth one perfect
bloom; a memory of days
now past

Other plants wither, decay
give in early to the cold
lose heart at the first blasts
of autumn winds -
Some draw on roots that run
deep into good earth -
and bloom.


Geraldine Moorkens Byrne