I Remember the Rose

For most, a rose is romance. A rose is the passion within - The forgiving flower. The tenderness that is, pure love. But not to me. A rose to me is sadness, It’s essence and it’s scent, I recall a painful memory - A lonely reminder of a woman, I never got to meet. It’s velvet beauty surrounded her, So pale and still she lay My grandma. I recall my father’s face; The first time I ever seen him cry. On his knees by his mother - At her coffin. So when I smell a rose’s love, In retrospect, I think I understand The beauty and the essence it demands. For it was the rose that I remember - and I think about her quiet face, My Nana, the gentle rose The woman that brought my father to his knees.