The Rose Bush Poem by Jon Butter

If you are not in that rose bush then you must have sprinkled heaven down
because every year you arrive this same day, and its large pink petals
are exploding like confetti. The wind is throwing them up in the air
for your ticker tape parade, and only the summer's first blooms
have truly popped. There are still days, weeks of painfully perfect flowers reminding
us to water your garden and to toast every evening, wishing you were still here.