Afterwards –
when only thorns remain
when leaves have left
and sap
been sucked.
With fingers pricked,
you still recall, perfumed
the summer rose of youth.
Before the withered rot
and sag of flesh,
before you burst in bloom,
your dreams
were different from now.
Young woman with a bouquet of roses by François Boucher
Today it’s time for the Quadrille at dVerse hosted by me, a poem of 44 words that has to include the word rose.
—-
June 27. 2016
Björn Rudbergs writings 
The untarnished dreams of youth… lovely quadrille!
excellent quadrille here — although, as your elder, don’t like to think of my sagging flesh and sucked out sap 😦 I prefer rejuvenatement dreams — different from those of my youth for sure — but sill as tantalizing 🙂
Wishing you a grand vacation, sir! 🙂 In case I forget to mention at Poetics.
Beautiful and impeccable writing.
The dreams may have changed but hopefully the passion for life still lingers. I specially admire this part;
perfumed
the summer rose of youth.
Aw..so woebegone. I really like your close!
You have captured the angst of ageing i the sadness brought by a withering rose. Your quadrille has a courtly quality which suits the subject.
The rose of youth – novel and enchanting!
I so like this – the perfumed rose of youth vs. the thorns of today. I turn 65 in a few months and this just knocks my poor little head back.
Of all the poems of yours that I have read, I think this is one of my favourites. It’s just so beautifully written.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my youth lately… this reflects my thoughts uncannily!
This was beautiful. Thanks for the prompt.
Ah, the rosy blush of youth…wonderfully written on, Bjorn!
Your love and facility with meter comes through in this breath-taking quadrille, Bjorn. The image is so well chosen–or maybe it came first. I often try to see the elderly as they might have been in their youth.
outstanding!
I refuse to be a thorny, sap-sucked, dried… well, I never was a rose anyway. But that aging thing!
A lovely poem. It sang as I read it, Bjorn.
How true. Dreams come easier in our youth, when anything seems possible.
Beautiful piece, Bjorn!
I was never as fair as the lady here in the photo 🙂 , but I understand the sentiments perfectly. I see myself in the words. 🙂
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This is a lovely piece that transcends through time. It somewhat reminds me of my favorite sonnet, Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116. Nicely done, Bjorn! 🙂
Gorgeous 44
the dreams of youth and the realities of aging don’t always line up. Nice write!
Some people can’t get over the disappointment of youthful fantasies and face the reality of the world. They let the sap get sucked out of them and they wither and die. The challenge is to let the flowers of fantasy die and then rebloom in a more mature way that is more aligned with life. Beautiful poem!
If life holds a constant it is in that fact, Bjorn. Dreams will change.
“When only thorns remain”. I hope I don’t reach that point in my old age.
Love the longing in this. And those thorns. Oh, the thorns.
Phew! the close on this: if truth could echo – this is what it would say!
when only thorns remain
when leaves have left
and sap
been sucked…
I’d like to think the perfume lingers! Your final stanza has reminded me that it’s my birthday soon :(.
I think having a birthday is a reason to enjoy…
It’s a big one!
Ah.. yes there are those as well.
I think dreams change with age – reality sinks in or we just lose hope of obtaining them.
A rose is a rose…whether in full bloom youth, or dried into a sweet smelling potpourri, your dreams may be different, but they help keep us alive and kicking! Sweet poem, Bjorn!
You think? But dreams happen on the inside.
As one whose sap has been repeatedly and effectively sucked at this point, I’m happy to note that the dreams of my own youth do linger on and are occasionally rekindled by memory and new experience. But yes, there is a difference. Youth is sweeter, somehow, viewed from the distance of years gone by. I do miss the innocence. And age equals context equals deeper anchors in reality..for me, at least.
I like this poem, pricked fingers and all.
=)
Well written.
Ah, the dreams of youth, the realities of aging, the sweet auroma of roses remains the same…..