Saturday, January 22, 2011

Leaving Rose Hips

The last of gardening for summer ends.
Hoe and trowel, knee pad and sunbonnet
Hang in the shed with the shears.
The final petals of the rose have fallen,
Leaving rose hips,
Like tiny crabapples
With a crown of rumpled hair
And calyx now dry and stiff
As a starched collar
Trying to hide the crimson berry
That stands erect upon the high
Seat of the peduncle.

I gather the petals for a sachet pillow,
And press them in books
To mark the poems I love
With summer's fingerprints.
Then make my tea with those rose hip
Berries and honey,
The last taste of the season.

October 2009


  1. Yes! I do these things too. They bring me joy in the moment and joy in the future, like a double-dip ice cream cone. Perfect.

  2. This is such a beautiful poem, full of the richness of living in "the heart's garden" :) Just lovely. Especially as I am reading it in the midst of winter!

  3. There is something so wistful in the voice of this poem, the acknowledgement of seasons come to pass. Just beautiful.

  4. "And press them in books
    To mark the poems I love
    With summer's fingerprints."
    i never thought that way about pressing flowers in books...but this is wonderful!

  5. Greetings, Happy Monday! Blessings…

    Friendship Awards, Enjoy!
    Thanks for the support, You Rock!

    welcome join Jingle Poetry Potluck today.