A Song of Michael's Rose

The cottage reeks with fluid tides of hope, incessantly commanding. My baby’s here. I’ve still no word coming down the line from Dover. Winter’s gone... Spring rains have come and with it comes the tears all over. I weep again, my child it seems, will never know her father. Today down by the spring I prayed the prayer so often said, sorrow turned desperation. I found a ring left in the cup, since yesterday laying there, scribed “M” upon a jeweled stone. My heart leaped in expectation. I heard his voice inside my head, where also his face I saw. I turned and looked... no one was there... please God give me this one discretion. There must be peace somewhere to find. I look but must be led by your grace and mercy. Again at chores, the babe asleep, the knock came loudly. A letter from Michael O’brian maam, please sign here for delivery. I hurriedly skimmed, he was dead, two days before, of pneumonia. Our little Rose, still in my care, to receive his name if she so chose and all else he owned in Dover. A ring for me it seems was gone, a large garnet with the letter M on the stone, had disappeared completely. EPILOGUE: A seed was planted in winter, planted in sweetness of youth. It was a gift from Michael. He left me alone in the spring---yet, his flower grew in my garden. Our error was human. First feeling trapped, then love, from this Rose in my life. Forgiveness is divine. Love is eternal. 11 Jan 2011 Charles Henderson