Today; I took down, my precious, sweet, dried, once given to me rose's, from the walls. Now, it seems so empty here in my solem flat...
They were given to me from family, friends, & yes, even from my lover........ Time has a way of drying up all feelings. They had been tied & dried with ribbons and bows. Placed here & there to fill the spaces..... Memories of days shared. Places spent. Happy times, as well as some sad, sick ones also..
But, roses being my favorite. I could never throw them out. Today I looked. I decided it was time. I fingered the small ribbon, then began the task. To me they were still, stunning as the days I received them. Ever so slowly, I began the delicate dismantling...
What am I going to do with all of these. 14 bunches......
Plucking the rose heads, I started. I was drifting with my thoughts. Does this really matter? It does to me... I stopped. I started to wonder.. Why does this effect me so?
After choosing a large basket I decided to start again...
My thoughts were drifting, I could not keep on task for anything. I put things to rest & picked up my poetry to read.
What do I come across? But this...
THE ROSE
RONSARD, 1550.
See, Mignonne, hath not the Rose,
That this morning did unclose
Her purple mantle to the light,
Lost, before the day be dead,
The glory of her raiment red,
Her colour, bright as yours is bright?
Ah, Mignonne, in how few hours,
The petals of her purple flowers
All have faded, fallen, died;
Sad Nature, mother ruinous,
That seest thy fair child perish thus
'Twixt matin song and even tide.
Hear me, my darling, speaking sooth,
Gather the fleet flower of your youth,
Take ye your pleasure at the best;
Be merry ere your beauty flit,
For length of days will tarnish it
Like roses that were loveliest.
So... This is my thoughts on today's Blog...
I did finish up reading 1 more......
ROSES
RONSARD, 1550.
I send you here a wreath of blossoms blown,
And woven flowers at sunset gathered,
Another dawn had seen them ruined, and shed
Loose leaves upon the grass at random strown.
By this, their sure example, be it known,
That all your beauties, now in perfect flower,
Shall fade as these, and wither in an hour,
Flowerlike, and brief of days, as the flower sown.
Ah, time is flying, lady--time is flying;
Nay, 'tis not time that flies but we that go,
Who in short space shall be in churchyard lying,
And of our loving parley none shall know,
Nor any man consider what we were;
Be therefore kind, my love, whiles thou art fair.
So, my thoughts were somewhere else you see..
Looking around at the mess I had left on the kitchen table.. I finally picked up the rest of the Rose bouquets & proceeded work. I try to finish every project through to the finish. However this one was taking a toll on me for what reason I could not figure it..
I stopped again & went to sleep for awhile...
When I awoke they were still sitting there right where I had left it all.... Carefully I started again. This time I finished...
