She grows that garden rose
Grows without control
Sweet smells climb up my nose
Everything goes on under my nose
Without my knowing.
She is a rose
Her billowing robe flows like abundant sap
Chinese female gold, her dress is yellow orpiment
Her shift in yellow also, gem of the orchard
She is a scorching opal, sun scored
Around her I feel awkward and untoward
She is an empress, ever-bored
We open fronts and conduct ceaseless wars
Enough to be painted by Stillorgan’s William Orpen.
I’m glad we met up
Sometimes fed up but glad I’m fettered to you
When I hate you I’m no better than you
We will be orphans
Together.
She walks like a sarcophagus lid
Walks the world like Boudicca did
All piss and vinegar, fire and vim
Vast unspoken rage that can’t be lidded
Upon you, a curse that can’t be lifted.
Alchemisland 
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