The Roses

My love is twin roses of the field,

like sunlit fair upon the milky white hills.

So like a field aglow she will not yield,

before such beauty of eyes and summer days.

And like sunlight upon our winter sills,

her smile lights and mends my ways.

Some eve upon her beating heart,

I should heed the moment, rest to dream.

A sweet embrace before her roses part,

and dream beneath those many stars of night.

A word and heart, more than they seem,

they are but strangers unto the light.

Something of a heart is breaking,

when this sleep no longer brings me rest.

Your touch so like morning's waking,

I'd find myself renewed as though I had slept.

I am taken by she who knows me best,

in my eyes that were tired and wept.

Dear friend, I look always to you,

and find company within a night's refrain.

Here, though quiet in the things I do,

my love resides within and passions run free.

In the scent of a memory you'll remain,

as beautiful as the roses and sweetly.

Brian Francis Hudon

July 17, 2016