My Lady of the Roses
There is talk of roses
And I think of you.
There is talk of you
and I think “roses”.
The rose reflects your soul
and you reflect your roses.
Roses.
Your roses. Pruned, nurtured, tended, loved.
Perfect for that is your desire.
Natural but perfect.
Every rose in the right place.
And every rose, every plant, is there
because that’s what you have decreed.
They respond gratefully to you, as to the sun and rain.
You are for them the sun and rain.
Rosemary and thyme, tarragon and sage,
sweet basil and the common parsley.
They too have a place in your garden.
Wisteria, peonies, iris.
One turtle.
No end of lizards.
But you remain forever the lady of the roses.
A mother surrounded by her children.
You know them all – Serenissima and Prelude, Sans Souci,
the delicate pink Feeling, and white Iceberg.
Then there is Rita Levi Montalcino –
and you love the rose even though you can’t stand the name.
For you, your roses are unique,
for you love each and every one
(my apologies to Le Petit Prince!).
A garden reflects the passing of time,
of the seasons, of the years,
the tempests over which you have no say
and the havoc that they play.
It reflects the seasons of your life.
Your garden is the mirror of your soul,
of the soul of its creator.
Which leads me to ask
Is then the world the mirror of the soul of God?
Erika Bizzarri 
I have always thought how wonderful it would be to have a rose named after you. Maybe this piece is the equivalent, and a more enduring one, at that.
The last stanza could stand alone. Come to think of it, the first four lines of that stanza, my favorites, are a poem in itself.
A friendship that deep is such a gift. I am glad to have met Nennella. It was clear how exceptional she was. What a blessing for you to have each other in your lives!🥀
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Such a beautiful poem, Erika, and a wise one too I would say. Above all a wonderful tribute to a friend. It’s nice to see the photo of you both, by the way.
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