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Rose Poem
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. She sleeps in her rose wood bed,
under a blanket of velvet red;
old and alone and forgotten,
she dreams of the love she once had.
Once again she recalls his caress
on the curve of her hips
and her breast
as he moved his bow
on the strings of her soul,
playing her sound
'til his passion was spent.
~~~
They traveled the whole world over,
to every city and town;
the maestro, his bow and violin,
bringing each curtain down.
~~~
He died in a cry of sweet refrain,
clutching her strings to his heart;
as he fell to the floor in a final encore,
tearing her world apart.
~~~
So she sleeps in her rose wood bed,
under a blanket of velvet red;
her strings still filled
with the song of her soul,
etched by the maestro
that loved her
so long ago!
~~~~~
Author: Elaine George
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2006
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Rose Poem
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~THE ROSE~
This is not a poem about a rose
Nor a poem, about diligence and beauty
Today, I sit and stare at the walls
Walls, that bare the complexity of life
Every breath, every tear I shed in my room
Set out to pollinate every seed, every bud-
Life once - was the perfection of everything
Now, water drops as I drown in my sentiments
--- Sentiments that no longer hold meaning
I feel so empty now that you are gone.
This is not a poem about a rose,
Rather, it may be, I write about death
Death is a man with no face
A man who sits every night
Patiently, he sits on the edge of everything
Waiting and waiting,
For the thorn to prick the stem of who I am,
Who I used to be, in hopes I end the suffering
Every night he sits on the bedside
Watching and waiting
As I gaze deep into the dark watery walls
I lose the strength and resilience in my eyes.
Creating a dormancy, that shuts out the light
In a place where darkness prunes itself another day
There and only there,
I draw the silhouettes where life once bloomed
The echoes of my heart still call out your name
A name that no longer exists by my side
Slowly, the musk withers into the air
In remembrance, you were once here
Perfection Gone, ~And a rose is just a rose~
:) 4-16-16
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016
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Rose Poem
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I walk through the glistening virgin snow
That covers the sorrow of autumn’s death
Where I find on a bush a frozen rose
Its beauty held ageless in winter’s breath
How I long to touch those petals again
Those moist velvet lips that promise such bliss
Opened in passion whispering my name
As I drift in dreams of a breathless kiss
Oh! To pluck this rose from the winter snow
And hold it closely to my aching heart
And free it from that ice so bitter cold
That now my love keeps you and me apart
But if I were to pluck this winter rose
Would all its petals fall upon the snow?
~~~~~
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2010
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Rose Poem
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The single white rose captured the old gardener's attention,
He lovingly cared for it, like it was his own grand-daughter,
The roses were just like family and friends in his eyes,
He gave them bright sunshine, and plenty of fresh water.
He had always planted roses in reds, yellows, and pinks,
Yet, it was the one white rose that he favored most,
The old gardener admired it's innocence and elegance,
A quality that the other roses just could not boast.
This precious rose was pure white, like new fallen snow,
Which only a cold, late November day could bring,
It's delicate petals were soft to the finger's touch,
Similar to that of a feather, in an angel's wing.
The old gardener was perplexed and astonished,
Only this rose bloomed through spring, summer, and fall,
Each of the other roses had withered months ago,
The frost and cold weather did not affect it at all.
With a smile, the old gardener took one last look,
Unknowingly, death would soon come without warning,
After he had settled down for a nap in his chair,
He drew his last breath, later on that morning.
His funeral was held on the very next day,
Loving words were spoken, as he was laid to rest,
His grand-daughter approached, with tears in her eyes,
As she placed the single white rose upon his chest.
The cemetery was a quiet and peaceful place,
Where family and friends gathered to remember,
A gentle snow began to fall upon the casket lid,
Brightening the gloom on this final day of November.
The old gardener's soul departed from this earth,
Lead away by a choir of angels, on delicate wings,
Then on through the pearly gates of heaven's garden,
Where the white rose still blooms, in eternal springs.
November 25th, 2013
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013
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Rose Poem
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The blackberry's love for the garden rose
Brought down the gardener's wrath.
The blackberry sensed the danger
As he wended the garden path.
" A love so true as mine", he sighed,
"Must dare to brave the hoe.
Just a few more feet to reach her,
My true love she must know."
He crept along so quietly,
Sometimes quite out of sight
Until he nudged his darling's feet.
Did he dare to trust the light?
He heard the gardener's heavy boot
And hid in craven shame.
He knew he'd soon be weeded out,
A seedling with no name.
"Have I no worth since I don't rate
Some Latin nomenclature?
Without a well known parentage
Am I a freak of nature?
His darling's line was long and pure,
No skeletons in her past.
He had to make his feelings known.
Those boots were treading fast.
Gently then he wrapped his vine
Around his loved one's spine.
In great amazement he opined,
"Her thorns are sharp as mine".
The sweet rose felt his tender touch
And realized his fear
And wondered at his bravery
In coming to her here.
She heard the swishing of the hoe,
She heard those nearing feet.
Quietly letting down her leaves
In a manner so discreet
She covered her wild lover.
The gardener unaware,
Stopped but to view her beauty.
He saw naught hiding there.
She whispered, "You are safe now".
The blackberry's heart was light,
Thankful that his dear sweet rose
Had not exposed his plight.
"A rose is still a rose." she said,
"By any other name
And in our distant ancestry,
We share some of the same".
"I'd rather know your wild love,
Than a love that's dull and tame,"
Cuddling close, returned his kiss
Without a bit of shame.
Next season there were seedlings
Of a very different kind.
The gardener delighted, cried
"A horticultural find."
The moral of this story?
Things aren't always what they seem.
The love you look down on today,
Could be tomorrow's dream.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2009
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Rose Poem
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“A Flowers Wilt”
Witness the small existence
that abides the beauty of-----------
Freelancers all around,
Just to get a good look.
A baneful abrasion, the flower took
It captivates you -------------
Reels you, steals from you,
WAITING,
Until you pick the right flawless touch.
Dandelions swaying thin,
Here we fall like petals.
Ready to exploit, the beauty of-------
Inhale the fragrance,
Courtyard azure eyes,
Embarking in a wishful eternity,
A crush they become, when loveliness up and left.
A bully against arrogant threw feminine perfumed veils
Tulips waiting for the better auspicious sky
Asters claim the eclipse's,
-dinginess censors it from the brilliance of the sun.
~
A lonely rose
In My Helix World-
The out-and-out are born.
Cries in the dimness,
A sweet Lotus echo
Slight yelps of agony carried off by pollen breeze.
The earth revolves to fast,
Injections of herbal essence in the wind
For a split second, we feel pixie dust
Channel the essential, it fades
Earlier beauty, calmness-
A flourish smile,
Rusk of flower, a bluebird’s bread.
Like candles and dew, they stream and limber energy
Opposing others of its humanity,
Against the command of its importance,
Pierced by its own elegance,
Thriving slowly of its own will,
A short story, gone astray!
Tonight, we plant a tree,
The Flower wilts
The gardener cries
03-06-13
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
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Rose Poem
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Tender tendrils climb the wall
Up towards the sky
Past the latticed windows tall
Clinging on from high.
Then in springtime buds in red
Pout with lips apart
Inhibitions they all shed
And seduce my heart.
----------------------------------
Contest: A 7/5 Trochee
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Placed: 1st
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015
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Rose Poem
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Knowing She Sees How Deeply She Is Missed
(Tribute To That Greatest Of Love, A Mother's)
Blue-cold morns rising to light a fire
mother, cooked on wood stove truly ancient.
She out of sweetest of love's truest desire
provided nourishing food so patient.
Not asking praise for her unselfish deeds
washing dirty clothes in an old wash-pan.
By love's examples she planted new seeds
windy-flames of reliance such did fan.
Now time, with its many decades have flown
beloved mom, passed on to her reward.
We, her thriving huge brood, are now all grown,
feel her love and know why she worked so hard.
Knowing she sees how deeply she is missed
we thank her, each beloved face she kissed.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-11-2017
SONNET, (Tribute to our mother and to mothers everywhere, THAT SACRIFICE WITH THE DEEPEST OF UNSELFISH LOVE FOR THEIR CHILDREN)
------
I started this poem back in May, 2017. I finished the last two verses this morn.
Hesitant to post because I feel it is not worthy enough but alas (!), I also know with my meager writing talent , I can do no better.
Thus, with my wife's prodding, I post and pray it is deem worthy as a tribute by all that read and love ever so dearly their own wonderful and loving mothers!
Beauty That Rivals The Red Rose
He the gardener she the rose
She was only flower he chose
Days he gave her his very best
Under moonlight glow they both rest.
With great care he keeps her from harm
Always enamored by her charm
Whenever she mentions her thirst
Sate her needs, he is always first.
At dawn's first calling she wakes up
Her petals with his hands he cups
With true love, admiring her grace
This dark world together they face.
His life for her beauty so fair.
Together, love's beauty they share.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-10-2017
Cyhydedd Fer Sonnet,
8 syllable lines
.. a. a. b. b. . . c. c. d. d. . . e. e. f. f. . . g. g
Syllables Per Line: 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 0 8 8
Total # Syllables: 112
Total # Words: 88
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017
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Rose Poem
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So still and beautiful lays the rose in the heather,
Lifeless and dying, given to bring you happiness,
So fragile is this rose laying in heather,
Slowly withering and drying, crumbling to a powder,
I look at you and see this rose ever fading,
Once growing, living, accenting its surroundings,
But now gone, plucked from the bush by one mans lust,
I could never compare you to this rose laying in the heather,
For your beauty surpasses its own,
So still and beautiful lays this rose in the heather,
Now dried cracking and dead, stored in a book to bring memories,
So weak and faded is this rose in yellowing heather,
Slowly falling apart as you touch the fragile petals,
I look at you and remember the flower when it faded,
That germinated and grew where I had sown its seed,
Now gone, plucked from the ground by one mans hope,
I would never compare you to this old heather and roses,
For its life was surpassed by yours,
Now I tell you I love you with cellophaned roses in heather,
Draining lifeless this dying confession of my dreaming,
This rose is more fragile then the first had I gave you,
But I could’t approach, my courage eroding at your sight,
I look at you now and see the love I sought inward,
Once alive and growing but only within lost confines of myself,
But never quite gone I hold this consuming fire close inside,
I could never combine your world with mine,
You always looked passed never noticing me,
Now I open my book that holds the first rose, wishing I gave it for the sake of
chance,
Instead I hold a created memory that never came passing,
That never could I fear,
I hold tight to the lie that through wonted silence I painted,
But that chance for your love died with the first rose wrapped in heather.
Copyright © Charles Fuller | Year Posted 2006
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Rose Poem
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The Moon, The Swan, The Rose
I see an enchanted image that you’ve never dreamed of
With reflections twinkling while dancing on wave drops
Of a dreamy blue lake that is a mirror of one white swan
A dancing beauty with a pureness that blesses this water
She floats like a princess with such an elegance and grace
As splendor ripples through a lens of her divine existence
A canvas painting as one masterpiece beyond compare
As the moonlight manifests a sweet rose in my dreams
Beautiful to desire now that nothing shall be disturbed
Within a frozen memory a brilliant diamond illuminates
As the full moon’s image enters the depths of her soul
And a sad, certain loneliness leaves her spirit exhausted
Arising before my eyes on the wings of angels I see all
Clearly now with an excited, fluttering magical heartbeat
Believe me—that this eternal blue sky is incredibly real
With a golden orb of light colors reflecting so exquisitely
Now as majestic images of God’s Heaven appear above
I see His very image of the Moon, the Swan, and the Rose
Anne-Lise Andresen, Gary Bateman, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 2, 2015 (Unrhymed Tercet)
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015
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Rose Poem
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She sits and rocks, so gently back and forth
Her chin leaning heavily on her chest.
In her hands she cradles, one flat waxed rose
And sighs as pain is swelling in her breast.
Her long grey hair, now tied up in a bun
Is what I see when entering the room.
I helplessly watch, her tear drops flowing,
They look like dew, upon the lonely bloom.
Slowly she looks at a picture nearby,
A glimpse of a smile creases her face.
Granddad with her, stand on their wedding day
With red roses, and a dress of white lace.
After the wedding, she said with a smile,
I took this one rose and waxed it back then.
Granddad had laughed at me wondering why.
I said, for the special memories when…….
And now this old rose, I hold in my hand,
Precious memories kept in my drawer
I pull it out remembering the day
When granddad loved me, and I loved him more.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
11.25.2014
Contest: Encounters with Flowers
5th
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
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Rose Poem
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Soul progress
back field in motion
The guff
Chose, chose, live grow leave! GO!
Leapt from heaven's gold
Jump started into a human mold
White clapboard poverty with tiger lily blooms,
blueberry rake poverty woolen looms.
Riffs of Emerson, Whitman, Longfellow dawns,
mothers’ hazel eyes, father Davidesque form,
chosen to drive twixt a Jew and a screw.
Magnet of lunacy...
Tumbled like an agate into the stream of life
part of the dream lesson
scream lesson
Abuser of power, one who had once roared,
Eve shaped now, weak and mewling
between the weeds of woe.
Care taken by lovers torn.
Watched over by pedophile uncles.
Befriended by lewd Father of sons.
Adult child, searching amongst the Word
for the Word is God and GOD …
There are so many words
Root ripped scenes from beauty to horror
Shiksa* taunts seep in with the smell of borsch.
A pumpkinseed amongst the pricks of Brooklyn
A wild rose planted in the asphalt soil
Doo-wop ditty
Jew’s bop to a Dago harmony,
bagels, bialys and the French twisted strands
of great grandma’s hair.
Clipped, stripped of family shoved whole
into yet another new mold.
True believers, ah yes, fanatics all.
The struggle to survive whole healthy
dipped in, dripped in, a bath of acid and thorazine.
Polish priests pedal platitudes to the sisters of St. Joseph
behind the gilded glory of the Church.
Raped by trust and betrayed by lovers,
a rose married to a prickles thorn,
so empathy is gained, and a healer born.
Metal must be formed in a crucible of fire
A healer can not be born without tasting the pyre.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011
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Rose Poem
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In all her glory, dawn has burst forth,
With a slight glow of early morning brightness
I sit in the bower, listening to birds in concert
And admire wonderful, Rosebuds unfold,
Revealing a beautiful red rose
With a precision wisp of light prancing around them
Emitting a velvety feeling, so tempting to touch
Long green stems, prickles,
Full of scallop trim leaflets all in green,
With brown thin veins
Around the red velvet leaves,
Music playing on cool fresh air
Coursing through the whispering leaves
Sweet aroma of moist dew and rose perfumes
Floating gently on the breeze
Gives me an intense curiosity to embrace the rose
Just the sight of the red roses
Reminds me to breathe
By: Eve Roper 12/17/2014
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2014
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Rose Poem
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To one who stands alone my long gaze goes.
How dignified she poses here, and quite
unique and lovely is the bluest rose!
Apart from where one very large bush grows
so lush with other roses pink and bright,
to one who stands alone my long gaze goes.
Some lavender upon her petals shows
its hue of dreams and mystical delight!
Unique and lovely is the bluest rose.
Above the bush of blues, when a breeze blows,
She dwarfs them all, face lifting to the light.
To one who stands alone my long gaze goes.
The trials she has weathered, no one knows
but I alone; I know her secret plight.
Unique and lovely is the bluest rose.
As purple streaks the sky, life’s fast pace slows,
and day begins to drift into the night.
To one who stands alone my long gaze goes.
Unique and lovely is the bluest rose.
Written June 13, 2016
for the Villanelle Me A Flower or Flowers - Poetry Contest of Broken Wings
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
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Rose Poem
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Oh, mild flower I chanced to meet,
A ruby red, yet so discreet.
She'd never seen a hue my blue.
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.
Her fragrance wafted on the breeze,
And all were drawn to her with ease.
I put down roots near her and grew.
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.
Though in her garden all seems well,
there still are things she hates to tell.
Her thorns, a shield, conceal what's true.
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.
Beneath her thorns, resentment grows.
Disturb her and her petals close!
I learned too well what could ensue. . .
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.
A casual remark was said.
Her ruby rose turned scarlet red. . .
I guiltless pled. Did I misdo?
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.
A fury she had kept so deep
had been unleashed; it made me weep.
Retaliation cut me through.
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.
A leaf of peace she offered me:
Be friends, but only partially.
But I refused and shall eschew
Sweet deathly rose that I once knew.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
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Rose Poem
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If love could have a color, I suppose
it wouldn’t be just any common shade.
I’d name it for the colors of the rose.
In heaven’s hues this flower is arrayed!
From chaste love’s hush of pink to heady rush
that’s shown by cardinal or crimson red,
the rose reveals the grades of ardor’s blush
unto the time it’s thought that passion’s fled.
But in the tint of amaranth, the fire
endures; in purple deep it can transcend,
while yellow blooms in bliss that does not tire,
and white’s fidelity will have no end.
Though black the bud, a red will grow thereof.
By any other name, the rose is love.
The rose is definitely my favorite flower!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
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Rose Poem
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Gradually she changes her dress
at the end of this winter day
like a beautiful stage actress
preparing herself for a play.
At the end of this winter day
City of Joy as she is called
preparing herself for a play
diamond petals slowly unfurled.
City of Joy as she is called
wearing her glittering ornaments
diamond petals slowly unfurled
blooming like a rose God sent.
Wearing her glittering ornaments
anklet to bracelet of lights
blooming like a rose God sent
waiting for visitors of night.
Anklet to bracelet of lights
Howrah Bridge is her necklace
waiting for visitors of night
checks her face on the Ganges.
Howrah Bridge is her necklace
like a beautiful stage actress
checks her face on the Ganges
gradually she changes her dress.
© kash poet 2012
**Click on "About this poem" to see her necklace,The Howrah Bridge
========================000========================
Placement:5th ;(January 2012)
Contest:City Lights
Sponsor:Debi Guzzie
Copyright © kash poet | Year Posted 2012
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Rose Poem
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Once upon a time, many years ago,
There was a sweet and lovely - red, red Irish rose,
That was plucked prematurely, from the garden vine;
A budding beauty, taken in her prime.
She was laid to rest, upon the death, of a lovers dream;
Upon a chest of ebony, where lie, his would-be Queen;
Lowered deep into the depths, of the church yard cemetery;
Her scarlet petals, wilting in the summer breeze.
Then the earth begin to fall, like autumn leaves;
Upon her petals, and the chest of ebony,
From above her tomb, where stood the grieving groom
Weeping , weeping, like a willow tree.
Then the sky begin to disappear, amid that mournful cry,
As tears - from above, fell from that lovers eyes,
And came to rest, like dew drops on that Irish rose,
As she disappeared beneath the earth,
There in his grief below.
In time, he laid a stone of ivory - upon her grave;
Etched deeply - with the promise he had made:
To love his Irish Rose - forever and a day.
The years and all their seasons came and went,
And a million lonely tears were cried and spent,
Upon her grave where everyday he knelt and prayed,
And dreamed of her until his dying day.
The epigram has long since faded on the ivory stone,
That still stands alone upon her grave,
Where from the million tears of love he gave,
A seemingly impossible - blue, blue rose has grown.
Written: June 18, 2010
Author: Elaine Cecelia George, of Canada
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2011
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Rose Poem
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I awaken; the darkened skies my alarm clock
I reek of whiskey, scotch and pastis
Tumbling out of bed, I reach for a cigarette
The dusk harkens as I rise to ply my trade
I am embodied inside a one room flat
The nightlife and the ladies both coming to life
Out the window I see the windmill so famous in red
Ladies with offers, men with drinks, the recipe for lust
I am the mime of the Moulin Rouge
I ready myself with my white painted face
Tonight another performance or so it seems
I shall juggle my knifes, with my many sad faces
Up up up in the air, one, two, three
Knifes in a whirlwind of iconic display
Around and around like the Moulin Rouge
I perform, toss and catch to applause
My sad face bows in graceful acknowledgement
As they toss their lose coins my way
If they see fit to fill my container of misery
I make for them my spectacular encore
I take a knife, a long black sharp blade
Tossed 12 feet in the air, dancing its way back down
As it slices the stem of a red rose in my hand
I now hand a pretty girl a cut rose
The ladies of the evening smile
They see I too traded romance for coin
How sad it is, this Moulin Rouge of dreams
Eleven more roses, and I shall earn my keep
Or so the ladies in red believe
I, on the other hand, will be changing the last act
I am tired of rent and being rented and rented cloth
I shall perform the ultimate act finale ce soir
Selecting the sharpest set of long fine knifes
Lighting them with orange flame, the juggling act begins
My audience enthralled, once again
Wondering maybe does he ever miss?
I never miss, I never shall, this is a certainty
The knifes a glow in fire, lighting the nighttime sky,
Tossed high, I lie down fast, tossed a rose in the air
A Knife as usual cut the rose stem
One, two, three, the knifes enter my heart
The blood will warm the falling rose
As it gently falls upon my silent chest
I die with a smile, yes my final act a success
The rose so tender upon my breast
Breathless all, Gay Paris has died once more
I never miss
Yet, I miss you
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014
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Rose Poem
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My best friend and I
Ran barefoot through the garden
Stirring the petals
Her hair tied back in two braids
Her skirt trailed out behind her
We sat by the stream
With our feet in the water
Talking and laughing
Until a pink rose I plucked
And wove it into her dark braids
Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013
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Rose Poem
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Thousand and one Nights
Gothic and Romanesque rose
I call to the Earth
The Moment has come
The Choice is no longer mine
By goodness and Love
01.01.2016
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016
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Rose Poem
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I shall nay know all the wonders - you hold
For all too soon the winds of winter blow
Scarlet petals withering in the snow
How cruel the breath that kills the velvet rose
Tears - that canst’ bear the thought of letting go
Forever frozen in this empty soul
A broken heart forever turned to stone
A broken stem left now to stand alone
Alas! I find that life is bitter-sweet
As I stand holding only memories
Of a rose blooming in the summer breeze
Here beneath this old weeping willow tree
Once I held the sweetest rose - ever born
Now – in my grief – I hold the bitter thorn.
~~~
Author: Elaine George
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2009
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Rose Poem
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Once bloomed a rose so young and fair
With dark brown eyes and long black hair
Beside her be a tall dark tree
Whose branches stretch to smother thee
Too close beside the shadowy bark
That soon begins to leave its mark
She cries for help, but none shall hear
Her thorns too sharp, who’d dare go near?
To save this rose, who’d risk their life?
With naught to gain but pain and strife
Alone, afraid, she lays to rest
Her heart beats low inside her chest
And with the hour growing near
She sheds her final grieving tear
And so the rose soon falls asunder
Her final day, eternal slumber
She lies beside the old dark tree
The only one who mourns for thee
Copyright © Nina Hernandez | Year Posted 2010
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Rose Poem
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Winds may howl,
Wild animals growl,
The forest grows cold,
For I am lonesome and old
As the sun peaks through the clouds,
I hear your soft, young voice so loud!
And though you speak dead man's lines,
You speak them with majesty divine
As I am wrapped in my woe,
I only want you to know...
...that roses die black and violets lose blue,
But I will never die
And you know I love you!
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
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Rose Poem
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I remember the first roses I received.
I was going on my first official date,
and my beau brought me a beautiful
bouquet of red roses. At the time I was
so embarrassed when I had to bring them
into the house and put them in a vase
with all my siblings grinning at me.
Our relationship lasted a little longer then
the roses, but eventually they both died.
I remember the roses I picked out for
my wedding day. I insisted they be yellow
because that happened to be my
favourite colour of roses at the time.
After the wedding I put them in the freezer
where they lived in a frozen state for many
years among the steaks and rouladen.
Although I treasured them dearly I eventually
had to throw them out and they died.
I remember the single red rose my seven
month old son, with the help of his father
brought me on my very first Mothers Day.
It was one of the proudest days of my
life actually holding the title of all
titles, Mother. I had held that dream
in my heart since I was a young girl.
Time past before my son said the word Mother,
And long before he did, that rose had also died.
In the years to come I received many roses.
Red roses, yellow ones, white roses, blue,
orange roses, pink roses, rainbow roses too.
For Mothers day, wedding day, birthdays,
holidays, date days, Sundays and just for fun days.
Roses were always there from the day of marriage
until they filled my husbands grave.
Now all those roses, every single one, all gifts
of love, have died. Every last one.
The most amazing thing occurred over all
those years, although the roses died
memories of each and every one of them
live on till this day. I still see them in their
original beauty, smell their sweet scents.
If it wasn’t for those roses, would I still
remember those special days?
My eyes have taken the pictures of each rose
and filed them in my heart, where roses never die.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
12.17.2014
Contest: Roses, Roses, Roses
2nd
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
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