I’m not too fond of roses
but I have a memory
of the pale pink kind
growing near our kitchen door
and how, on a summer evening
when I took the dog out for
his last pee of the day
that pale pink scent would creep,
wisp-like, around the gable end,
carried on a soft breeze,
and enfold me; and it seemed
in the stillness of that moment,
that a corner of my heart
would be filled
with a sense of peace
