To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose,
Scentless, colourless, this!
Will it ever be thus (who knows?)
Thus with our bliss,
If we wait till the close?
Tho’ we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end
Sooner, later, at last,
Which nothing can mar, nothing mend:
An end locked fast,
Bent we cannot re-bend …Summer Is Ended by Christina Rossetti
Christina Rossetti mulled over her death in many of her poems…in this one she questions how we would look and feel at the end of our lives, using the imagery of a dying withered rose..“scentless, colourless”…not so these withered autumn roses…by next spring there will be new growth, beautiful blooms filling the garden with wonderful scents..
I hope she is wrong in her surmises about death..I hope that I can look back on a life filled with meaning
Abstract Roses in Watercolour on Arches Not Paper…
More Flowers Here