Potpourri Is What We Have

Rose petals red, held in my hand,
in other, soft and pink,
so gingerly I cradle them,
hot water runs in sink.

You search and find the just right size,
glass bowl for them to fit,
filled half way up with liquid,
immersed for all to sit.

For potpourri is what we have,
or do begin to make,
a watercolor postcard,
it's fragrance, in I take.

As all I've had is store bought,
determined by another,
for me a first in handcraft,
a treat shown by my lover.

While nature starts her process,
of turning to perfume,
you call for me to come to,
you in another room.

I follow your directions,
each given soft and low,
my own sweet natures fragrance,
begins to wet and flow.

And as the mixture simmers,
and turns into a boil,
I go back to the garden,
to sky and in earth's soil.

I liken to our petals,
the contrast blend so well,
with balance, care and timing,
what magic, time will tell.


All Contents © 2024