I was hurrying by, not really paying attention but they winked at me
So I brought them home.
They are a beautiful shade that appears in the dying pinks of sunset.
Or rather early dawn when the sky is still white with undecided direction
But sunrise already nudges forward under the horizon.
Perhaps it is the pink of ancient roses grown in country gardens
That grandma used to love.
A pink that is innocent, fragile and already spent,
Expiring before it becomes glorious, bleached of its hue
As the ranunculus opens up to the world.
It doesn’t have the exuberant joy of crimson pinks that demand attention
Or the passion of red summer poppies.
Paler than baby pink,
It is sweeter than the blush of first kiss.
It has the quiet grace of unrequested absolution,
The harmonies of rain and lullabies,
The tenderness of home,
It holds the contented sigh that escapes at the end of a long journey,
The faint scent of brown sugar and freshly laundered linen.
It is the pink of little girls’ dreams,
Of angel wings and mermaids seashells,
And of faded apple blossoms smiling at a double rainbow.
shells from http://www.seashells.com
unbuttoned or undone 
Good lord you have a great way with words, Emmy. Wonderful, awesome prose.
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Thank you John. Sometimes it comes together better than others
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Your “bad days” shame most wannabe wordsmiths 🙂
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Aww shucks. Blushing.
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Hi Em,
I really couldn’t add anything to what John said. This was spellbinding…, started soft and gentle, but built into a crescendo at the coda then faded into an elusive strain of melody. Happy Sunday!
Paul
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Thank you Paul. Happy Sunday without sun to you too.
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No flower could match the beauty of your verse. Jaw-droppingly good poetry.
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Thank you my friend for your generous praise.
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This is absolutely beautiful. Your descriptions are very thought provoking:
“…white with undecided direction
But sunrise already nudges forward under the horizon”
This poem brought me to a place of peace where there is nothing more important than a rose. I agree, and have enjoyed visiting with you and your roses.
Cheers,
Dennis
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Thank you Dennis for stopping by and taking the time to leave a comment. I am happy that this poem brought you where you wanted to be. Smiles.
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How the sight of those flowers leads to such beautiful poetry is still beyond me. You’d make for a prophet in the real sense of the word, that is, a person who recites poetry except in this case you are the maker of poetry or living poetry, I can’t tell which is which.
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I am sending you loads of grateful hugs of appreciation for those delightful thoughts my friend. Beaming smiles.
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Those hugs are highly appreciated especially now that it is quite cold in Nairobi.
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Lovely photo and poem. I adore roses. I can smell them when I read your poem.
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Thank you so much. The power of suggestion is amazing.
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Sniff …
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Sneeze?
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* Sigh *
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Ah! A man of few words you are… sometimes 🙂
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Woof~! (Wag-wag-wag …)
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