6 views
The Eternal Rose of Last Light
Every morning, the man from around the corner buys a flower.
Always a rose, and - without fail, at 6:45pm of every light, Mere minutes before the close of dark.
No one ever sees his flowers, not in his house, garden, or work.
I like to think they feed a superstitious belief;
Or a nightmare, maybe?
Or perhaps he dedicates them to his late mother!
The reality of it was probably much more mundane;
A habit he picked up from his father, maybe.
One day he stopped buying roses,
In fact, he never so much as stopped at the shop any more.
Some thought something terrible had happened,
An accident, or trauma.
But no, it was simple:
He found love, and in this love found the petals of a rose,
And it’s thorns, of course.
But he no longer needed the silly flowers;
For he had a flower of his own - one who he may love eternally.
© Rose On The Moon
Always a rose, and - without fail, at 6:45pm of every light, Mere minutes before the close of dark.
No one ever sees his flowers, not in his house, garden, or work.
I like to think they feed a superstitious belief;
Or a nightmare, maybe?
Or perhaps he dedicates them to his late mother!
The reality of it was probably much more mundane;
A habit he picked up from his father, maybe.
One day he stopped buying roses,
In fact, he never so much as stopped at the shop any more.
Some thought something terrible had happened,
An accident, or trauma.
But no, it was simple:
He found love, and in this love found the petals of a rose,
And it’s thorns, of course.
But he no longer needed the silly flowers;
For he had a flower of his own - one who he may love eternally.
© Rose On The Moon
Related Stories
