Desert Rose Waits …
Desert Rose waits in silence upon the lonely hillside,
An ethereal vision within a golden glow,
Her profound beauty so otherworldly,
She has walked upon sands of the past,
This deserted hill is where her little cottage
Still stands, the lace curtains now torn and faded,
Whipping in and out of the broken windows
At night when the winds blow through
And whispers echoes of her songs,
While Desert Rose sits on her porch
Waiting for the sun to go down,
So she can walk down to the saloon,
Greet the miners coming into town,
And entertain them.
The saloon where once she sang for the miners,
Still stands as it was in those days of long ago,
When the boom town was in its heyday,
No one rightly knows why the saloon looks
Like ghosts from the past will come back,
Glasses, dishes, and bottles of whiskey
Are still on the tables, waiting,
It seems like everyone in town all left
At once, even the bartender and waitresses,
No one bothered to clean up,
The only occupant left is a large cat,
Who found a small hole in the back door,
And dines on mice and voles each night.
Desert Rose can often be seen in the lonely
Saloon, singing on stage, and dancing gaily
With miners who are no longer there,
But, she does not know they are gone,
What she sees and feels is beyond our senses,
She is trapped in an era that is only in her memory,
When she was young and carefree.
Rose loved her town and the miners loved her,
She brightened their lives, gave them nights
Of love and comfort when they were lonely,
Every night there was one miner she took home,
Some just needed to talk, some needed more,
Yet, each one was special to her,
And they slept in the warm comfort
Of her arms.
When a severe epidemic broke out,
Rose was there to care for the sick men,
Prayed for them, and held them as they died,
So many died and it broke her heart to lose
Them all, then Rose came down with the illness,
And she died in the arms of a young man,
Who had often spent lonely nights with her.
Desert Rose was buried not far from her cottage,
In the little cemetery that can still be seen on the hill,
Many people attended her funeral,
Many mourned the loss of their beloved Rose,
Till they, too, were gone, and the town
Slowly died as the era declined.
Desert Rose waits in silence upon the lonely hillside.
© 2017 Phyllis Doyle Burns
I began writing content online in 2007, starting with BellaOnline - A Voice For Women, where I was the Native American Editor, Folklore & Mythology Editor, and the Appalachian Editor. I also wrote articles forThe Examiner, Daily Two Cents, and Yahoo. I am a freelance writer for Fiverr. I am currently an author on HubPages, a member/author of the Maven Coalition, and Senior Editor and an author for The Creative Exiles.
Most of what I write takes a lot of research and I love it. Even if it is a fictional story, I will research for accuracy in whatever it takes to make my characters, their era, their location, etc. become realistic to the reader.
I hope you enjoy my works. Thank you for visiting.
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