Thorns Unseen. Poem by Barry Thompson

Forgotten glimpses surface, bringing words that rhyme,
Twenty summers ignored my garden lay lost in time.
A York-stone path flagged, crossed arrow straight,
Unswerving to an outside world, a world that lay in wait.

And in the dying months, one waning Autumn day,
My eyes stared transfixed, at yon picket gate grey,
Sightless of the bright seductive symphony of hue,
Bouquets rampant dancing, as soft breezes blew.

Beautiful roses unnoticed, from focus on life and home,
Where breeze tossed butterflies gaily flit and roam,
Unhearing slight sounds of buzzing bees missed,
Ignorant to the ecstasy brought by being kissed.

I should have stopped to gape wondrous at that scene,
And stepped aside to draw anew fresh breath serene,
Captivated by ten thousand heady scents smelt,
Each crying out for love, but sadly never felt.

I could have drank from the bouquet, with subtle sips,
Echoing their song as nectar brushed sweet upon my lips.
and sighs when yielding to my searching tongue in truth,
akin to the nervous lust of pure innocent youth.

But I walked on with a heart cold as winter’s icy night,
With head held dead-straight, by engrossed lack of sight.
Until was placed a single rose of vivid crimson red,
Upon my barren white and lonesome bed.

I saw its’ blush and took hold, anxious with dawning fears,
Pressing it to my face to refresh with awoken tears.
But with deception beneath the forgotten beauty’s sheen,
The perfumed thorn patiently awaits unseen.