Roses

I used to pick you
bunches of roses
of twenty at a time
from the gardens
at the university.

Sometimes on my way
to Anne Fisher house
I could smell the sweet perfume
of the flowers
and it did something to my heart.

At times I snipped some off
with a pair of scissors
in colours of red, white, yellow
orange, pink and even purple.

We were really in love then
and you appreciated everything
(even the verses
that I wrote)
and it had to be obvious
to the whole university
from where I was getting
all those bunches of flowers,
but somehow they didn’t care
while I dared and dared
time and time again.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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