Raindrops And Roses Poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell

No one notices, and I don't complain.
A shaft of sunlight peers through the steeple,
and a pleasant cloudburst of summer rain
is content to make a ghost of people.

I span the bridge that crosses the water
as it ripples into an endless sky
and spot a frolicking river otter
within the switchgrass that rises nearby.

It's always the same in moments like this,
in a litany of raindrops and roses.
There is a sacredness, a gentle bliss.
One flower opens; another closes.

I draw a sketch on pink petal pages
so I can fly back on wings of recall
to gather the ash of faded ages
when both my memory and eyelids fall.

Evergreen echoes spill into the mist.
I walk the water with my eyes in tears.
I drown in the rush of the sweetest kiss
that has lasted me the measure of years.

Daylight fades into the garden of night,
into the breath of braided daisy chains;
but I remember the warmth and the light,
how we used to dance in warm summer rains.