Poem: Home

Marium Atia
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I am the rose, in the garden unkept and overflowing
Beneath the weaving trellis and its knots of vines, exhausted by the bombardment of roots
The splinters of wood from the abandoned shed rain on me yet I’m remontant, ever blooming, disbudding in differing hues of vermilion and cerise
I size a spray of roses, pampered by yet another lonely spring adding fragile fragrances
Breathe me.
I’m oblivious to the many weeds crowding around me and the fact that I haven’t smiled in seasons
I will always stay and this garden is my home
You tend to my every need and I am your everything,
Purebred through and through, delicately treasured as though you thought I’d break if you clipped me.