Tea Roses
by Barrie Neller






The mother of my children planted
tea roses for me outside my front door.
They bloom in fair weather or foul.
Like the tendresse we once enjoyed
they bloom frequently, unexpectedly
glad to share their pretty pink blush.
They greet my coming and going with
a nod, acknowledge the attention I give
them. Nonethless, they are roses and share
protective thorns.
Once or twice while tying them back
they drew blood. A reminder I can be
a prick.









Copyright 2020 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.