Argo Spier

Carried Along

in the garden of love
and on the day of deliverance, frisky
the morning rose opens her pedals

in half-lit simmering of dawn
spreading her scent

now the night has died on the day
and it fell into its face
- my Mistress' toll is taken -

she started to decay
loosing her scent - grandeur -
and her majesty

the summer too will end
and the bleak debris of love
it'll wrinkle like waste