With fingers coldly grasping pruners
I'm searching for that one last rose
as scents of autumn fill my nostrils
and nothing in my garden grows
Searching for that one reminder
of honeyed summer breezes
replaced by smoky autumn pyres
and coming winters frost -laced freezes

Already the trees are barren
and canes are bowing
to winter winds to come
I look, I bend, I stalk
a hunter...
hoping I can find just one

just one last rose
her head held high
stretched to catch
the waning sun
her petals bunched
but still defiant
undaunted by the snows to come

and lo...
she stands
off in the corner
sheilded by the garden wall
that one last rose
a sentinel
a thorny princess
standing tall

I cannot reach her
tho' I try
she nods smugly
with rosy attitude
the pruners fall
from my hand
I cannot breech her
solitude

I turn away roseless
leaving her to die
a natural death
and a faint whiff
of her perfume on the air
haunts me
"no scentless hothouse blossom
am I"
she taunts me

I walk away slowly
one last glimpse
bejewels the dusk
I stop
I turn
and then salute her
savoring the hint of musk

She nods again
and whispers
and my heart begins to sing
for she stated
oh so simply
"I will see you...
come next spring"