AN INDIVIDUAL SUMMER
There is a scent of roses here
As there was
In that quiet Cathedral.
Yet there are no flowers
At all,
Not here.
Not in this place of winter
And silent stones.
Only the flower of love,
That waits always for a chance
To blossom
Wherever it can find a home.
© 2021 Gwen Grant.
Poems by Gwen Grant 