All around the roses grew,
their petals open and breathing bees,
the path zigzagged through
to him, benched under a tree.
He knew she was there
and patted the place
where Love held the chair,
though he was curtained
by layers of cascading doubts.
He laughed at her belief
in crossing barriers,
but some of the obstacles he built,
so they could sit together
feeling the naked boards beneath their words,
wondering at the way the other thought,
for the meaning was all wrapped up
in little packages that lay at their feet.
While they sat together contemplating
what to do with all this treasure,
they learned something about each other,
for she was want to tear them open
and he to take his time.
So they sat on Love’s bench
with time ticking the roses closed,
while she learned patience
and he learned to trust.