My Sweet Rose
Form: Octave
In early morning sun I wander here
it's here amid my garden's genteel flush
a crimson flush of poppies whisper hush,
the hushing breeze that brings your love so near.
So near I feel your presence touch me, dear,
your dearest heart awoke me with a rush,
my senses rushed by the fragrant sagebrush,
recall the brush of lips against my ear.
In thought I find the sweetest bloom you chose,
your choice remains to bring you closer still,
and still each bud of summer gives a thrill,
the thrill of love that like my garden grows.
A growing passion tickles at my nose,
I know inhaling scents that will fulfil,
refilling dreams of you, my love, until,
until I join my soul within your rose.
©JezzieGFarmer2011
A Garret Poet 
Reblogged this on About the Jez of It.
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