Poetry Month, day 3
Three White Roses
Three White Roses
Three white roses grew in a field,
three wild white roses, curling
along the edge of a fence –
three wild and free white roses,
free and wild and high white roses,
spreading in all directions
excepting only down.
One was a mother
and two were her offspring.
It seems inconceivable now
that the wind or the birds
had placed in that field
the seed of the first
of those wild white roses
and two had followed,
helped by bees –
or else her trailing stems,
the mother’s trailing stems,
made roots which grew
of their own accord
and sank down into the ground.
Three white roses growing
in all directions, even down,
brightened one corner of
a field, a fence, a line of sight.
The small girl wandering
stood a while, understanding
none of this, all of this.
Wild roses (Rosa spp.) propagate through either sexual reproduction -- pollination and seeding -- or asexual reproduction, such as when their stems root as they trail along the ground in fertile soil or when their roots send up new shoots from underground. -- Home Guides SFGATE
Linked to Tuesday Platform: NaPoWriMo Style at "imaginary garden with real toads".
This is such a satisfying reading experience, Rosemary. Your lines and repetitions are so organic and spread out like your rambling roses.
ReplyDeleteThe last stanza seized me with its power and glory!💞 There is so much that we don't understand when we're young cloaked by the veil of innocence. Beautifully rendered.
ReplyDeleteI can remember being that little girl, not sure what I was knowing, but I knew. This family of roses is lovely :-)
ReplyDeleteI learned something new about roses! I do love the smell of a wild rose.
ReplyDeleteWe had wild roses like yours, both kinds, in Nebraska. Except ours had pink flowers. I tried to grow cuttings from them but it didn't work. The other kind had flowers of all kinds and colors. (When those sprouted we married and by self help became domesticated. The plants turned out to be twins.)
ReplyDelete..
Come to think of it, I suspect wild roses only come in pink.
DeleteI like the way you ended this poem. The little girl, knew non of this, all of this!
ReplyDeleteLove what you can learn from the roses reproduction... the repetition works very well as well as the conclusion.
ReplyDeleteI so enjoyed reading this, with its repeating words, picturing the scene. Love the small girl understanding none and all.......
ReplyDeleteThere is such a wonderful earthy feel to this, the power of the repetition is effective, and pulsates. And the metaphors hidden within are equally fascinating. Remarkable idea borne of the wild - wild roses are gorgeous! So hardy - except mine get regularly chopped by the white-tailed deer - but that's to be expected. Anyhow - there is something so enchanting and entrancing about this Rosemary - and I love how you've ended the piece - it's just perfect!
ReplyDelete(and rustic roses do come in white - it just depends on where you're pulling them as "native" - from which continent, but predominantly, they are darker hued/shaded - evolution/propagation of the species etc., survival of the fittest and all that)
Happy 30/30 GloPoWriMo
🍃Pat
Thank you, I'm glad to know they do come in white.
DeleteNature's mystery befuddles the young and the old, no preferential treatment there. Love your poem.
ReplyDeletenone of this/all of this...we're all just kind of dumbfounded on a daily basis...and great poetry makes my jaw drop even further :)
ReplyDeleteThe repetition in this is wonderful and the three roses out me in mind of maiden, mother, crone.
ReplyDeleteSome children are knowing little children. People say they have been here before.
ReplyDelete