White Rosebuds

The rosebuds hang in the corner from a ribbon,

Seven tiny blooms harvested in time,

Perfect pearl-white drops after killing winter snows,

Everlasting summer, in pictures, and my mind.

***

The wedding that my family thought would never come,

Who wants a female who won’t cook and clean?

The tomboy, the girl-child, too smart for her own good,

Wrestles with the boys, says her mind, is mean.

***

Sugar and spice? Not so much, in my making,

Snips and snails, yes, and puppy dogs, too,

Grew up making mud pies, playing in the river,

Ripped off any pink, only wore my blue.

***

Were two thousand days of summer reflected in my eyes?

As I walk an aisle, or can I only see?

This white dress suits me fine, though feet might still be muddy,

Memories surround me, friends and family.

***

Mom’s perfume, Dad’s cologne, familiar scented soaps,

Touch of Vaseline, farmer’s liniment,

Grenny’s balm, Grumum’s hair spray, Uncle’s strong cigars,

Intertwine in folds of mind, the melody of scent.

***

I am adorned with no aroma, no bouquet, no spice,

Only the flowers gripped in nervous hands,

Passing fragrance of my past, I pace towards future stripped,

Ahead, an altar, where my partner stands.

***

Seven little rosebuds bear witness to my thoughts,

Thirty years ago, from two fragile strings,

Rescued from an antique bush buried in the snow,

Careful-kept from harm, through all that life brings.

***

Through petals barely opened, they’ve seen everything,

Joy, pain, passion, sorrow, gain and loss,

Lives well lived, few regrets, our passions intertwined,

Constant companions, in comedy or farce.

***

Like petals on the wind, we have lived our lives,

Face what we must, wherever we are sent,

Through it all, the first harvest of our wedding vows

Remains, though my roses have no scent.