Femme lisant dans un massif de Rhododendrons, Anna Boch (c. 1900)

Rhododendrons, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

Fragrances fill my air from very side.
The vacuum quickly pulls them inside.
To my memory permanently tied,
The sweetness of this melancholy ride.

This book with great effort I do proceed,
Reading each line more than once must concede,
For my euphoric mind cannot be freed,
Just to turn a page fragrances impede.

Rhododendrons may they be pink or white,
Provide many souls with so much delight.
Into a bag, every bloom in my sight,
To sprinkle upon my bed every night.

Knowing your season’s end be very near,
Patiently await your return next year.