Canes do not grow to the center of the plant

I don’t know how roses grow.

I’ve never selected a gawky shrub,
All sticks and thorns and angles,

Stumpy and brown, in a burlap sack.

I’ve never planted my heel on the shoulder of a shovel,
Turning the dirt to make room for a rootball.

I’ve never watched like a hawk
For the midges and thrips who suck the green juices of the budding leaves.

And so

If I admire

The carelessly exploding armful

You brought

Today, for me -- these roses --

The deep cupped petals of color now tumbled across the perfect black sheen of the piano

What I mean to say is

Thank you for being you.