Given the heat and summer, I felt that sharing this poem by Alice Dunbar Nelson would be perfect to share. As I sit here, I can smell my grandmother’s rose bushes and the current heat that we’re experiencing in North Carolina feels as though Satan is peering through all of my windows so this poem felt totally appropriate for me.
Hopefully, you’re all staying cool.
There is tropical warmth and languorous life
Where the roses lie
In a tempting drift
Of pink and red and golden light
Untouched as yet by the pruning knife.
And the still, warm life of the roses fair
That whisper “Come,”
With promises
Of sweet caresses, close and pure
Has a thorny whiff in the perfumed air.
There are thorns and love in the roses’ bed,
And Satan too
Must linger there;
So Satan’s wiles and the conscience stings,
Must now abide—the roses are dead.
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