A Rose from Yeats

I travel the road twice over.
A pheasant skirts the hedge-
a maroon feathered guide.
I follow down his lane
to find by a stream-
the monument I venerate.

Your Tower once restored
by ‘The Celtic Twilight’ and
poems written for Maud.

Now access is denied
due to flood damage.

Judgementally impaired-
I climb the ivy-draped gate.
Greeted by bramble and sweetbriar
I step gingerly-
on borrowed courage
and dead wood.

‘William are you here?’

I cross the bridge
over culpable waters.
I understand your marriage-
of myth and magic
when I stand in this
enchanted realm.

Between light and shade,
growing strong against
the desiccated wall-
a bush of luminous
yellow tea-roses.

Symbolizing a new beginning-
your gift to George.
She saw the sun reflect
itself twice over
in their summer bloom.

Mesmerized, I jealously
claim one treasure
to have sleep on my pillow.
I prick my finger
on its thorns and cry.

You blot the scarlet ink
on a sheet of white parchment-
while the river runs copper.

The rose destined to
wither and die-
will never repeat bloom
on this century old bush.

Because I stole a gem
from your garden on a sultry-
August afternoon.

Previously published in The Copperfield Review 2011 and Recurrence of Blue 2015.