I departed gently, like a soft breeze that enters a window and cools off a room with a very soft entry; I entered a path of ancient rough stone, all covered with bush and trees overgrown. My goal was to find the source of a scent that filled our small home , with aromas of roses and flowery cologne. I followed the scent down the old rugged road, all empty and absent of a single abode. As I made my slow steps through the bushes and trees, the scent grew much stronger, real hard to believe. After more than one hour no scent could be stronger, and I knew then my search would not last much longer. My thoughts proved me right and as I moved much closer, there stood the source of the scent, a huge pink Rugosa. I sat down on the ground next the heavenly rosa, and felt then that heaven could never me closer. I sat there transfixed, giving thanks up above, for more than one hour, then headed back home and out of the bower.
majored in journalism at NYU in the 50s; received my masters in business from there and worked for Equitable Life in NY for many years. When retired entered antique business and real estate; retired to Massachusetts and Florida; currently do a lot of volunteer work. Friends forced me into poetry due to much writing I had sent to them over the years. So I joined High On Poems. the end, warren