Roses in the blood

A poem for OctPoWriMo on the theme of mothers.

 

A mother is in the blood,

a flowering urge to root and shoot,

bud-burgeoning into blooms.

A mother blooms and falls,

her memory fading only slightly,

fuzzy at the edges, hard lines softened,

and the seeds set remind

in their bright laughter

and the way they hold a pencil

or turn a phrase,

that though the petals fell,

the rose remains.

 

 

 

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

25 thoughts on “Roses in the blood”

    1. I’m pleased you think so. To my way of thinking, it’s the only way to fade out of life. To be remembered and recognised in others is as long as our lives get. Everyone ends up forgotten one day; the notion of ‘forever’ is a human one, and no one has ever lived forever to know that there is such a place.

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