Charles Addams: Zen to Zen

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Black roses growing in snow
Mark the path down which love has fled
From a world in which plastic flowers
Line concrete-covered meadows
And the banks of inflammable rivers;
Ski-tracks between the roses
Tell the lover even more certainly
Where to go
To find runaway love:
They curve around the wends and bends
Of the path the roses mark,
Bracketing here a tree, there a post,
Sometimes, for yards, vanishing altogether
In the soft snow,
But always reappearing.

I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep --
The promises were made under duress.
Fuck the highway.
I'll follow the roses.