A Poem

I kind of have a thing about roses ... maybe you noticed, from all the rose pictures on my blog page.
I think they're beautiful, and extremelly symbloic.
I found this poem in my english book, and completelly fell in love with it.
I appologize for any typo-s ... I typed this out straight from my textbook, and I'm known to strike a wrong key now and again.
If I see any I will correct them, and if you find any please leave a comment and remind me to correct my mispelling.
Enjoy the poem ... it's simply lovely.

Incident in a Rose Garden
by Donald Justice

The gardener came running.
An old man, out of breath.
Fear had given him legs.

Sir, I encountered Death
Just now among the roses.
Thin as a scythe he stood there,
I knew him by his pictures.
He had his black coat on,
Black gloves, a broad black hat.
I think he would have spoken,
Seeing his mouth stood open.
Big it was, with white teeth.
As soon as he beckoned, I ran.
I ran until I found you.
Sir, I am quitting my job.
I want to see my sons
Once more before I die.
I want to see California.

We shook hands; he was off.

And there stood Death in the garden.
Dressed like a Spanish waiter.
He had the air of someone
Who because he likes arriving
At all appointments early
Learns to think himself patient.
I watched him pinch one bloom off
And hold it to his nose-
A connoisseur of roses-
One bloom and then another.
They strewed the earth around him.

Sir, you must be that stranger
Who threatened my gardener.
This is my property, sir.
I welcome only friends here.

Death grinned, and his eyes lit up
With the pale glow of those lanterns
That workmen carry sometimes
To light their way through the dusk.
Now with great care he slid
The glove from his right hand
And held that out in greeting,
A little cage of bone.

Sir, I knew your father,
And we were friends at the end.
As for your gardener,
I did not threaten him.
Old men mistake my gestures.
I only meant to ask him
To show me to his master.
I take it you are he?

~for Mark Strand