what roses?

your imagination
is slipping
as you work
too hard, and
sleep too little.
you see grey
and white, the black
sky, with needle
pricks of stars.
your eyes burn.
your legs and arms
heavy from work.
when you were
young you could
spend hours lying
on the picnic
table in the back
yard staring
upwards, waiting
for a comet
to flash by.
but who has the time
these days.
what roses?