Hedge Rose

I went into the midsummer night
to print its dense simplicity
on my skin, an alleluia
from head to foot.
My voice deserted me,
the words dressed in silence.

Soon the night will close
over the moon-hour
and the little hedge rose
that will perish in the snow
with complete gravity
will bloom again.

By Meg Freer

Wild pink rose

Meg Freer grew up in Missoula, Montana, US, and now lives with her family in Kingston, Ontario, Canada, where she teaches piano and enjoys running and photography. She began writing poetry in 2015. Her photos and poems have won awards both in North America and overseas and have been published in chapbooks and in both print and online anthologies. In 2017 she won a fellowship and attended the Summer Literary Seminars in Tbilisi, Republic of Georgia. Journal entries and photos from Tbilisi may be found here.

Photo of wild rose in Yorkshire by Charlie Milsom

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