Kissing Roses
I do love smooching flowers. Sometimes I give them a small pat because they are kind of irresistible. Like babies who all smell very good most of the time...
Kissing Roses When I smell a flower I offer it a kiss in return. While this may not be a fair trade, it is the best I have to offer. Sometimes they put a thorn my way as a warning to be gentle as I pull them to me. Sometimes the most perfectly shaped ones have very little smell but I smooch them still. Others, unassuming in color, a bit ragged in shape, have a perfume that leaves me weak kneed and staggering, barely able to stand long enough to deliver my adoring kiss. We are all roses are we not, our lives begun as the sweetest cherubs like tiny unfolding rosebuds. Perhaps our soil was the best and sweet rain came on time, every time, stopped only by a loving sun well before our drainage was overwhelmed. Some roses were poorly potted, or their planting amounted to a stab in barely fertile ground watered only when convenient, never pruned, yet they persisted. And so it is that a weed, by any other name, is always unwanted, rose or not.
Lovely, the poem just oozes with love and beauty!
What a lovely thought to be compared to a rose. Each family is a unique bouquet! Happy Father’s Day to you and your special bouquet of roses.