Carl Hathwell
POEMS
Mosaic | Mambo | The Silent Din | Love's Song

Flor de la Canela (The Cinnamon Flower)

All the Roses | In the Dark | Night Tremens

All the Roses

© Carl Hathwell

She laughed,
When courted,
Her laugh,
A new lilt to her timbre.

The soul has a scent
Like water has flavor. 

A corpus,
Betrayal,
First the blow,
Tears come later.
Options...loss.

The roses of the Persian plains smell sickly-sweet.
A primeval genus, mother to all the roses.

wwww.jcampstudio.com/hathwell © 2006 Carl Hathwell • site by Jan Camp

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