FORGIVE ME
                         by Angela Manalang Gloria


             Forgive me if I speak now of nothing but roses.

             I laughed before at those who babbled of the
             melody of flame-petals, and I pointed to them
             in scorn,

             "You are fools that prate so of roses. Will other
             flowers not do?"

             But now, I too dip my hands in a bowl of roses,
             and feel the thousand little touches and hear
             the thousand little murmurs of the spirit of a 
             sunrise on a tropical lagoon, in the fluttering
             of bare petals against my wet fingers.

             Forgive me if today I speak of nothing but roses.

             I did not do so before, but last night I stole 
             quietly through the soft darkness of my chamber
             to poise my bowl of roses on my window sill;

             And while the pale streetlight shivered dim into 
             my window, I trembled over the shadows of Rose-Life
             into the shadows of Eternity....and then I
             questioned: Why should men call this earth a
             Valley of Tears?

             Forgive me if I talk of nothing but roses.

             But Love has stirred the dry twigs in the desolate
             gardens of my being, has sighed for an altar of 
             roses - and I could not but hear.


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