the midday sun,
scorches the earth,
withers the flowers,
dries out the leaves,
much destruction
almost daily.
the gardener,
very concerned,
throws thin damp nets,
over his roses,
hoping to save
them from the sun.
then at sunset,
he estimates
the damage done,
to the flowers and
smiles of relief
light up his face,
they remained fresh,
the net did help,
to preserve them.
tomorrow, he'll
have red roses for
his lady love.
Copyright © 2011 Sandra MARTYRES
All rights reserved
Beautifully written. I have hundreds of knockout roses all around the house, each time I walk out and see them it reminds me of your beautiful poem.