The Roses

I wish 
I were like 
my neighbors roses. 

Dappled by the sunrise 
in hues of 
pink, orange, yellow 
and red. 

Blooming beautifully, 
for everyone to see. 
Bright, proud, 
and adored by all. 

I am too grey 
and masculine  
in my ways. 

I am 
more like 
the Morning Glory. 

Rich yet dark. 
Marvelous in its 
morning glory 
but 
dead at night. 

I visit 
my neighbors roses 
everyday. 

To breathe in 
their fragrance. 
To be intoxicated 
by the taste . 
To be high on their vibrance 
like it might 
rub off 
on me. 

Today 
I walked past 
the roses 
and there was 
no smell.  

Almost as if 
they had gone stale. 
As if 
they were no longer 
young maidens 
but old hags. 

Had they turned into me? 
A non beautiful 
non luscious 
piece of shrubbery? 

But then, 
my neighbor 
drove past me 
and waved 
and smiled.  

And with that 
I was transformed 
into the rose. 

Bright 
proud 
and adored by all.