Published: Jan 2008
My Mother A Rose
one of its kind,
love and beauty a mother,
A rose without thorns,
not a petal was torn,
a perfect rose stood straight and tall,
my mother was the most precious of all.
A rose that survived the worst kind of weather and yet the most delicate ever,
a rose with a fragrance,
there could be know other,
you see this rose is my Mother.
A rose is picked and put to dry,
the beauty is still there,
it never dies.