The Rose Remains A dusty road in a land of lost dreams, Minds and hearts pursuing meaningless schemes, Underfoot the Earth cries, “Remember me,” “Have no time,” is the answer, “Let me be.” Going down that way no heed is taken, A fresh red rose on the road forsaken. To lose one’s Mother is a sad affair, To look at her without thought, love, or care, A rose her gift to her wandering child, Life’s hope reflected in petals so mild, Is left behind on the road towards death, Only remembered with the final breath. The red rose takes its color from the Earth, From our sweet Mother’s blood who gave us birth, Is this road the only life path we know? Within our Mother’s love can the soul grow? We come and go while life waxes and wanes, Look again and know the red rose remains.
Discussion about this post
No posts