Roses

Roses grow on prickly vines,
most of the roses I have known
have been picked,
and in another’s garden grow.
Their perfume scents another’s home
to mature as time flows
bringing happiness as they grow
though summer’s sun
and winter’s snows.
My rose lives within my home
and still warms this heart of mine.

3 October 2009

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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