Roses that wait!

In my garden bloom Roses,
That only wait and wilt.
All of 'em in broken poses,
Waiting to be cut by a celt.

On the earth lie those petals,
Thousands of them trodden (upon).
Beauty, now in fetters,
Existence, now a burden.

But, sure would one day,
That sun shine this way;
Poses corrected
And life resurrected.

Yea, sure would come,
One adorable breeze,
To carry this fragrance home.
This waitin’ and wiltin’ to cease.

Jade.