She strolled down the garden path.
Inhaling, she smelled the red roses,
the pink carnations,
the purple isrises.
They all had their own fragrance,
their own allure,
their own mystique.
Not unlike a woman-
With her "pink" days,
fresh hopes, dreams,
maybe shelved by
growing kids, but still there.
Or a woman in red-
a rebirth-
new hobbies,
a devil may care attitude
a littlle rebellion,
followed by purple days-
a strong sense of self-
perhaps some softening of ways,
a mellowing out and yet . . .
the vase- regardless of the shape
holds a collection
of pink, red and purple blooms,
the blend of different phases
evolving over time-
like the essence of fine wine.
(c)Phyllis Johnson 2007
from HOT and Bothered by It. Community Press
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