Rusty Roses
August 13, 2007 by Shirley Allard
a dusty, rusty, wilted rose
now dried, it’s blush long gone
the days of wine and roses
swept away
the rose becomes an ornament
its fragrance ever gone
the wine, an empty bottle –
in the way
both, a cruel reminder
of the youth that’s come and gone
just sitting there, to humble you
each day.
Isn’t it strange how we can become defined by the remnants left behind? The use of the pronoun ‘you’ in the third stanza gives the piece a sense of universality. It offers the reader the choice of guessing whether the narrator is talking about her/hisself or all the readers inclusive. Very effective… I like the title, too… a little ominous and foreshadowing.
Thank you Bob. Yes, we are all products of our backgrounds and the remnants of that background do indeed define who we are or at least how we see ourselves.
Nice one… How many times have our pressed roses turned to just the leftover rust color? I really liked the image. Thanks.
yet even beyond its passage, the beauty and fragrance, both known and apreciated