A rose is but a flower
But though images grow pale
The essence of a memory
Will never really fail.
A rose is a reminder of something once held dear,
of all that wilts and goes away and all that is still here.

A rose’s bloom is for today
Her sweet perfume will die,
But even as her petals wilt          
A child is born to cry.
Now all the worst of passages
And all the best of tears
Won’t bring back the sweetest things
She’s lost throughout the years. 

And when the rose has turned to dust
And all the poems are gray
Her children are yet left to bloom
And then to fade away.
And so tomorrow’s promise
Is held in every bloom
And we will wish to live again when Rose is in the room. 

 © 2005 Joanne Nelson All Rights Reserved