The lush pink Damask
asleep in dense-packed petals
awakens with sweet perfume
waltzing the senses.
The yellow Climber
pirouettes up the trellis
trailing an umbilical cord
tethered to Mother Earth.
The blood-red Rambler
spurts dark carmine
spills over the split rail fence
leaps over its own thorns.
A brief dance
this season of Roses:
Come June, they bloom.
By July, they die.
A resurrection in September:
They reach for the failing light
swinging their hips.
Monica Enders lives in East Hampton.