Where is the Rose

I opened the door.

On the floor was a rose.

It had petals of deep pink,

which had not yet opened.

I picked up the flower,

It had a strong fragrance,

I put it into a vase.

Where had it come from?

I fell asleep and dreamed,

all I could recall

was an invisible figure.

Putting a rose into a vase,

over and over again

I know who delivered the rose.


One thought on “Where is the Rose

  1. Waking experiences blended with dreaming makes this quite lovely. I’m fascinated by the many ways our minds interpret our lives, so when your final statement — I know who delivered the rose — comes, I both want to know and want to stay in perpetual guessing with the sweet promise of “anything can happen.” This is simple, eloquent storytelling. Well done!

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