The summer rose

 

Sun-singed summer rose,

I remember luscious days those

when your spring-kissed smile

rose over all hate and vile,

Thy buxom, fresh, healthy

petals laden with dew

whereupon well-fed butterflies flew,

Fragrance carrying mystical clew,

That was then

the spring was at its peak when,

Now the very air on fire,

Waters gone to sire

rain somewhere else,

While here the fiery summer yells.

Here you stand in June heat,

Singed, burnt with a feeble greet,

The heat can’t beat

and eat

the essential core of your smile

with her fiery guile,

Though beaten, shaken and

pushed against the wall,

you still avoid the final fall

and flash the call

of your essential nature,

and behold the dim beacon

of beauty with a proud stature.

You still carry a smile feeble,

The once big stream reduced to a dribble,

But still it mans the post,

And avoids a complete, fiery roast,

Your small, dull pink, sun-lynched flowers

still hold the chance of beauty and showers

and raise a toast

with a defiant boast

for the dew-kissed autumnal nights

drenched with misty delights,

These fragile little smiles and petals

in the pit of fire

will sire

the blossoms all rosy

enjoying the climes all cozy,

They are like

the surviving columns of army,

Holding their little petalous sabres

against the fiery onslaught swarmy,

The will to survive against a total rout

with their rebellious shout,

They won’t be out

till the rains reach home,

And cool nights return

after the other hemisphere’s roam.

I call these the flowers in the fire,

Adamant beauty with a challenge dire,

Smile will win over fury and fire,

Another spring awaits

with its full blossomed baits.