, , , , , ,

~ Mystery Roses ~
Right there before me was this beautiful rose,
Deep down in the center I buried my nose.
Breathing in deeply to get that sweet smell,
As my head drew closer to the center do tell.
Oh my goodness, what’s this I do hear,
Tiny little sounds were entering my ear.
I’ve heard tales of this from children so little,
Said they heard laughter and sounds of a fiddle.
There’re giggles were growing as my interest in knowing,
Was very much filled with excitement and showing.
Was this really true, were tiny creatures living in rose’s,
Today I am telling truth that no one else discloses.
Now I wish I could shrink to the size of an ant,
Still hearing those sounds, how I want to but can’t.
Should I cut some roses and bring them inside,
When the evening closes might they jump out and hide.
As morning enters would  they scatter and disappear,
What a quandary I’m in, wrong choices I’ll make I fear.

I gaze at this mystery garden so innocent and pure,
I really must know, I have to make sure,
Are tiny people or fairies or bees that sting,
Really living in the roses that bloom every spring?
Should I go back to the  children once more to ask,
Or just lie down near these m roses to ponder, wonder 
and bask.
Eileen “2012”