Days of Wine and Roses

adashofsunny Sanaa Rizva Take time out and stop to smell the Roses 

They are not long, the days of wine and roses: Out of a misty dream Our path emerges for a while, then closes Within a dream.  Ernest Dowson       

Article here  Ernest Dowson, poet

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Those were the good old days
tightly furled like a rose bud
sweet, innocent moments of
anticipation and keenness
the mysteries of yet to be.
Childhood passed so quickly
skinned knees and bruises
gave way to broken hearts
soon mended by true love.
Then the glorious unfolding
rose blooming in dewy creaminess
blush of the middle years lush
with activity and plans.
Then fully open, beauteous
in its completeness
breathtaking its rosé bouquet.
And living, like the rose,
is strewn with thorns
regret, brevity,
wilting, drooping,
petal by petal
letting go
to dream
the winter
dreams.  

 

 

 

 

 

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