I planted a rose in my garden.

Watered and tended it grew.

Reaching verdantly upwards,

as if my purpose it knew.

Slowly, in tight buds it flourished.

Patient, I bided my time.

Waiting for that special moment

when the bloom would be in its prime.

 

Early when dew gemmed the garden,

with diamonds, rubies and pearls,

the most lovely of which, a pink rose,

slowly it’s petals unfurled.

The moment was ripe, full of promise.

Its heavenly scent filled the air.

I cut the long stem, almost sadly,

on my hand fell a drop, a rose tear.

 

Part sorrow, part awe at it’s beauty.

I gave the pink bloom to my bride.

A gift for years of love given,

the joy of a friend by my side.

 

 

David Garlick, Victoria, October, 1992