A Change Of Priority

at dawn i feel you
touch my hands
i do not think now
of roses in springtime
i do not have
thoughts like a river
i am caught
in this quagmire of
other priorities

myself above all
wanting something
new and strange

in the morning
you tell me that the
roses in the garden
all wilted

i must not be dreaming
of death.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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