roses show and mingle, clipped tight against
the white steel frame of the old wire fence
nurtured from unwanted sticks, like children
across the worn driveway crimson petals spill
announcing the end; their bloom brief and delightful
as their moment ends, another competes for place
the gardener administers brutal love as she cuts
and trains, the vase of life for a while is full
until the last petal falls exposing her work
now vulnerable arms stretch from mature roots
unsure and naked they face the harshness of winter
are they strong enough to endure the elements of life
the coming winter has stripped them bare to the waist
it is useless to cry for their lost youthful beauty
so they grow thorns upon thorns of protection
forgotten for now; they will lie dormant
until the burst of new life brings them back
to the notice of the gardener, to marvel again
her handwork, her legacy, pruned to create perfection
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