Sweet Rosie Sinead
Old as the Carolina hills
but agile still,
she melts, without a sound,
into her baby blue plumpity chair,
her beloved perch-by-the-window where
most days she settles in
to watch the children and the zephyrs play,
to live a verse or two
of her life as
"the last leaf on the tree"... .
Yet, in this very moment,
she is not alone, she sees!
To her amazement,
a visitor, unknown,
has dropped by,
like the ghost of August,
has "set -a-spell"
has cut the last rose of Asheville’s Summer
has placed it well
upon his side table,
(that hand-carved treasure
her husband made.)
Atop the Old Man’s well-worn Works of Shelley,
just now she spies that single yellow rose, that scent, that smell
that promise of Forever Love that to her he gave
singing, "Oh My Sweet Rosie-Sinead."
Remembering it all,
she hums along.
In these last hours, November calls,
and soon will come the white and wintry weather
for which they 'll watch and wait together....
as leaves fall.
and mysteries rise.
©jA Narrin, Wind-in-the- Feather -~^~ The Spirit Ridge Collection Asheville, NC October, 2011
Find out about Rosie SInead's Lakeview Park--Asheville Walkable Neighborhood
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