by Mary E. Lowd
August 17,2019
The late August rose,
Has seen the summer passing.
Petals fall from its blooms,
Like scales from our eyes.
Stare into the future,
Like the rose.
Unflinching,
Braced with thorns,
But with open eyes,
And arms wide,
Anyway.
* * *
From the book: Some Words Burn Brightly: An Illuminated Collection of Poetry
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