Michael Shepherd Rose Poems

This rose - red, scented, rich, without price –
is it speaking to me?
I cannot hear what it says. And yet…
...

hold the camera
as the rose's petals
fall
one by
...

How wise
the rose?

near the shortest day,
...

Blown rose, wild, white,
thrown by snowflaked winter wind;
summer’s tender scent, intense,
dispersed; no mercy; beauty, blind…
...

In the garden,
I look at a rose and wonder

Is this rose
...

As cold winter turns to warming Spring,
two lovers return from their winter rest.
...

‘If all men already knew my message, saw my smile
then there would be no need for me to speak; or to exist.

If all men already knew my message, saw my smile
...

The rose
you may colour it yourself
sang for many days
about God
...