Gen Meeting On The Blind Side Poem by Mill Field

We have met,
Off and on, I suppose,
Down through the ages;
Under crystal domes and louring skies,
In the houses of friends and on crowded plazas;
In spacious libraries
As in the minds of those who filled their shelves;
Intimate bistros, theatres, places of worship
Have not been foreign to us;
Even on the fringes of desert wastes, did we meet.
But, most of all, we met in parks and gardens;
And, where-ever we met, there were roses;
Roses by splashing fountains where we dabbled our hands,
Spoke of life, of love and what makes the world go round;
Roses in wild hedge-rows, roses in Shalimar;
Roses in such abundance
That the days and nights were captivated by their fragrance,
Enthralled by their beauty;
There is even a faint memory of a lost garden of paradise;
Do we search it still, I wonder?