The Cyclist and the Rose

I saw a photo of a cyclist with
red reflected in a window.
I set to work in Photoshop on my own vision
and three short poems came to mind
each reflecting a greater understanding than the one before.
The Cyclist and the Rose

I Beginnings

I missed you in my racing days
The hours spent in preparation,
The work-outs and the heats.
You were there.
I didn’t notice you.

I won.

You left.

*********************************************************************

II Realizations

I missed you in my racing days.
The hours spent in preparation,
The work-outs and the heats.
You were there. And unlike a rose,
I missed your fragrances and hues.

I won.

But the season for roses lasts only so long.
You were gone.

*********************************************************************

III Endings

A rose,
Unlike bicycle tournaments,
Has one short span;
Though both take years of preparation.
Another Tour de France will always come,
A rose will always slip away.

I did not notice you when I was racing.
The hours spent in preparation,
The work-outs and the heats;
Though you were there, and so unlike a rose,
I missed your fragrances and blush.

And when at last I won,

the season was already lost to me.

Randy Mazie

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