Mother Poem

For My Nephew And Niece In Memory Of Their Mother

This poem was for my nephew and niece in memory of their mother who passed away from cancer. For some unknown reason I only write sad poems.

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Rose

©

Published: March 2009

I think, I guess, and I suppose, there is nothing prettier than a rose while its fragrance lends comfort to our highs and lows.
-I think, I guess, and I suppose-

Though they sprout from the earth they're a gift from above, but most of all, they're given with love.
-I think, I guess, and I suppose-

Now roses are there on that special day, when a
man and a woman vow to say, "I will love, honor, and obey"
-I think, I guess, and I suppose-

As a rose in the garden brightens their day, it's
the birds and bees that show them the way to bring forth children in the natural way
-I think, I guess, and I suppose-

Tiny red roses picked from the wild, are given to a mother who bears her first child, while a dad in the background looks on with a smile
-I think, I guess, and I suppose-

As time goes by, the rose makes its presence in various ways, to a graduating student, they're given with praise
to a lover there given on Valentines' Day, while Mom gets a bouquet in the month of May
-I think, I guess, and I suppose- 

As with all things in life, roses are shared with grief and strife. When God calls a man to leave his wife, a rose will be there to remember his life, and a rose will be there when He calls the wife, to join her husband in a new found life, free from the grief, and free from the strife. 
-I think, I guess, and I suppose-

As the cold wind blows and the leaves are exposed, the life of the rose is about to close
-I think, I guess, and I suppose-

Now with tears and a sigh, we look down at the Rose, it's starting to wilt and soon will die. But hold back that tear and do not cry, for it's joining that bouquet way up in the sky, to welcome us all, when we die. I think, I guess, and I suppose, time has run out, it*' the end for the rose.

I will miss it so, that rose that's gone, for it is not a flower, it's just my Mom.
 
I think, I guess, and I suppose, there's nothing prettier
than a "Mom---- named Rose"

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