This rosebush is someone’s dream
who lies dreamless underneath.
The sight of it now it seems
is what the sleeping bequeath.
More than sunlight and soil
water and worm, this rosebush
is the end of human toil
an earthly, perennial hush.
One day I will take the shape
of a rosebush or of grass
and gazing at my landscape
become someone’s looking glass.
R. Charboneau
Artwork: van Gogh – Rosebush in Blossom (1889)
Robert Charboneau. 
I don’t know who you are rosebush or grass,but u hv already touched my heart…..!
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Mine too Jarah!
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Wonderful poem, Robert. You make death sound like a serene dream that ends “the human toil”. Did the Van Gogh painting inspire you? There is an earthiness to both the artwork and your poem.
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It did Gabriela. I was really interested in the idea that van Gogh could both paint a rosebush and become one himself (to be fair, there weren’t any rosebushes near his grave, but there were vines and ivy). I think it was reading your piece on his Auvers Wheat Field that led me to revisit his stuff. Look what you made me do!
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Kind of like this one. Every once in a while I like a poem.
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