The Red Rose I Am Still- Holding

I had a dream . . . (at least, I think it was a dream) I was walking in a beautiful garden, and wandering down pretty paths; a church was built right in the center, among all the flowers and lovely green. The door of the church was ornately carved, but a sign hung- DO NOT OPEN THIS DOOR; so, I turned back to the garden, but now, my view was totally different. It was filled with graves, headstones stood instead of beautiful flowers; music drifted in the air, and I could hear and see a funeral was taking place. So, I went and stood with the mourners, who looked down into an open grave; each person was tossing a red rose, tossing it upon a shiny black coffin. Oh, why not, I said, to the girl who is me, just toss one in- and then, I woke up; weeping, weeping, oh I had done this before, yes, we had thrown red roses . . . on my mother's coffin, I look at my hand and the red rose I am still- holding . . . ___________________________ August 29, 2018 Poetry/Verses/The Red Rose I am Still- Holding Copyright Protected, ID 18-1055-775-01 All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.