The Rose of Sharon
                                by Eileen Dennelly

      In Memory of Subud NY Helper - Donahl Breirtman 1915 - 2004

     What can I say of you,Rose of Sharon,
     coming in a rush to burst into bloom
     the star exhibit in sun's gallery
     of artistic perfection?

     First, but buds a few,
     opening, then closing,
     a panoply of beauty, a profusion of color
     again and again,
     a chaos of abundance.

    Each year, I anticipate your prompt arrival
    then as I await the few weeks,
    nay, days to the height of your glorious passion
    I recall these ancient words.

    " Upon seeing rose florish in all her bounty,
      know that summer has crested -
      attained it's zenith"
     the prime laws of nature - God, my father
     knew well.

    As the days shorten
    spent blossoms fire off
    a fusilade of missiles
    her arsenal gone,
    rose of sharon is taking her last curtain calls.

   When the last blooms fold, then drop,
   branches  now bare and bereft
   and earth's warm canvas littered,
   duds await a punishing trample underfoot
   by casual passers-by.

  Could this not be a mirror
  held up to our tomorrow?
  we mature of a sudden - a robust vitality,
  only to descend slowly into ageness,
  a pain, an ache.

  Yes, when we too are no more,
  they will walk upon our lifeless remains,
  if in luck, someone who truly loved us once,
  will visit this deserted knoll.

  Perhaps, rememberd moments, even hours,
  touched by beauty,
  a joy - shared intimacy, graced with warmth,
  as they salute the divine spark -
  ours now, returned to whence it came.