Dew in the Garden

I don’t tend to do April Fools so, instead, have a poem about roses and morning. I hope you enjoy it.

The wind rings through field and flower
Like a silver fairy chime.
The dew lies on the garden bower
And the mist enshrouds the thyme.

The roses turn their blushing blooms
As the sun breaks through the cloud.
Their thorns drop fire on nightly gleam
As the thrush’s call ring’s loud.

The roses stretch and unfold in joy
Their petals gladly spread.
The leaves uncurl a concealing ploy
And the thorns hide their heads.

The day comes like a waking rose
With both bloom and thorn.
The joy it plants grows and grows
Pruned only when we mourn.

Dreaming in Plot