Barry A. Lanier (Georgia)
<b>A Pressed Rose
Catching a glimpse of her, methodically
turning the pages of the book.
I thought she was reading a novel.
Her face as radiant as always, though
there are lines where skin was once smooth.
Her beautiful hair, as fine wine, has aged from
auburn to a fine silver.
Moving closer, she senses me, as she always does.
Gently holding the petals of a red rose.
Moments earlier pressed between the pages.
Asking if I remembered giving it to her on
our honeymoon night?
Instantly, the years disappeared!
My bride looked at me before gently placing it
back into the book.
The softness of her smile, and the passion in
her eyes telling me.
A newlywed couple again.
Comments about this poem (<b>A Pressed Rose by Barry A. Lanier )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
William Ernest Henley
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings