Painting Studio Raining Roses In November by Stephen Craig Rowe

The night seemed to rain roses of November if only in dreams as I lay down the garden for winter with poetry, grace and thoughts of poetry and grace.
In a space between the words where poetry is spoken quiet and near light.  Where space is only as deep as one makes it.
How can it rain roses?  She asked.
Just because it does in poetry.
Rather like walking knee deep in rose petals and
being there, here, the dream and reality all at once. 
Did you see the pale sunset through the trees on the ridge tonight and how the colors went gold in turning to purple and soft pink against the blue sky where no camera could capture the image?
Only the words rained roses.
Saints smiled and slept in sacred dreams
as Liberty and Dragon dance eternal,
hand in arm in hand, forever.  As the night rains roses and poetry is ever spoken quiet and near light.  As ever be well,  Stephen Craig Rowe