The rose was a poem my mother cut out and gave to me shortly before she passed away 23 years ago. She had never enjoyed good health, yet at the time that she gave this to me she had no real reason to anticipate what was coming. Over the years I have come to think that on some level she knew and thought this poem would comfort me. At first it did'nt but gradually it has come to mean a great deal to me and points my attention to natures way of renewal in times of change.
The Rose
THE ROSE
Near a Shady wall a rose once grew,
Budded and blossomed in the light,
Watered and fed by morning dew,
Shedding its sweetness day and night.
As it grew and blossomed fair and tall,
Slowly rising to loftier height,
It came to a crevice in the wall
Thru which there shone a beam of light.
Onward it crept with added strength;
With never a thought of fear or pride
Followed thru the crevice’s length
And unfolded itself on the other side.
The light, the dew, the broadening view
Were found the same as they were before;
And it lost itself in beauties new,
Breathing its fragrance more and more,
Scattering fragrance far and wide.
Just as it did in days of yore,
Just as it did on the other side,
Just as it will forevermore.
Author Unknown
