Yesterday, the dogs and I tiptoed and crunched our way through yards upon yards of God's golden carpet; thousands of decayed leaves, beautifully interwoven, with the delicacy and dedication of a silk worm. It was as much fun as walking on bubble wrap, but less noisy. We kicked up the leaves to our heart's content, knowing we weren't making a mess - since the mess was already made for us! What a huge change in scenery from the summer, when the gardens were in full bloom, fragrant and vibrant with colour. And what a metaphor for life.
Suddenly, in the midst of all the dirt brown decay, I noticed a solitary pink rose still blooming on a bush. As I touched it, a perfumed petal fell on my hand, and I savoured summer's last hurrah. It brought to mind that lovely song 'The Last Rose of Summer' written by the Irish poet Thomas Moore in 1805. I began to sing it aloud - fortunately, there was nobody around to say I was nutz, but the dogs, (they know it already!), and the ducks were too busy avoiding the floating dead leaves, to pay much attention.
That last little fragrant rose blooming yesterday was a symbol of hope and persistence, and the realization that all things are passing. Nothing, or nobody lasts forever...
The first verse is below, and if you tip toe over to 'Polly's Playlist', you will hear the haunting lyrics sung by the alluringly beautiful 'Celtic Women'. Enjoy!
THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER
'Tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone,
All her lovely companions are faded and gone.
No flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh.
To reflect back her blushes, or give sigh for sigh.
Check our the 'Celtic Women' on Polly's Playlist.
Choo Choo for now!
Patricia xxx
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