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.
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