I remember
the busy university campus
where you bought a single rose for your new wife
to celebrate our first
Valentine’s Day.
And all the years that followed,
when I just got out my silk roses,
arranged them in a vase, and people
presumed they were from you
and that they were real.
I let you get the credit.
We’re cheap in our old age,
and resigned.
I should have
warned you about our bud.
She’s thorny
but she’s precious.
Touch her brusquely
and you’ll bleed from flesh
torn by her thorns.
They are sharp, but they protect
a precious bud.
Some day, if we tend her well
she will blossom into a glorious rose,
for now she is a thorny stalk
with a tentative bud,
doubtful of blooming.
She will need to be coaxed,
but someday, her unique beauty
will amaze you.
She will show the world
talent, insight, and vision.
She’ll be a complexity of
colour, scent, tenacity.
For now, she is a thorny stalk,
but we have faith
the guarded bud
will bloom
The leaves grow brown and fall
but between petals drenched with rain
blossoms still smell of summer sweetness.
I wrote last week that voting is an exercise in hope, but it’s certainly not the only one. Here’s a couple who demonstrate a great deal of hope in the future. I especially like the pastor’s theme, “You’re not done living ’til you’re dead.”
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Congratulations Rose and Forrest.
♥ ♥ ♥
You were patient Forrest and you got a beautiful bride!
Here’s a tune just for you:
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Shawn L. Bird 