In the Rose Garden: Awaiting the Coming of Spring
by William Dority
The roses are dormant in their mulched beds, a long winter’s nap for their weary heads.
Finally resting from their long period of growing, storing up strength for the next season of showing.
To be awakened by the pruner’s deft art of trimming, to unleash Mother Nature’s exhibit of beauty, brimming.
All colors, all blends, and all hues, except for pure blacks and the sky blues.
Yet, somehow, a Green Rose has long persisted, but they’ve tagged it a White Rose as if it never existed.
Also, they’ve come up with Mauve as a color variation, to cover that spread from a ‘nearly that to a beyond that’ radiance situation.
So, as I await the Coming of Spring, I am always hopeful for the promise of the new life it will bring.
Still, the choice of my favorite rose will always remain, the one I’m standing next to, never wavering and ever faithful, again and again.
And now, suddenly, all the roses are trying, to out bloom the other for your favor, vying.
Their blossoms are heady with aroma and nectar that beckon the bumble bees and butterflies to them as if by vector.
And in so doing another chance is given to repeat, the new life process without so much as missing a beat.
For the purpose of all this activity is to produce those hips loaded with seeds, that ultimately provide the basic lifeline the plant needs.
To perpetuate its variety through the decades of changes, fostered by nature and man to develop new form and color ranges.
But thanks be to the Good Lord and the crick don’t run dry, a rose will remain a rose no matter what and how they may try.
Hope and Promise
Therefore hope to all is given, for it is not by chance or pure luck that our lives are striven.
For our days in our rose garden of life are numbered, and it is for us to enjoy and leave unencumbered.
By fears, hatred, doubt, and why ‘poor little me’, but wrapped in the cloak of love, trust, and forgiveness that will fortify us for our journey to be what is to be.
Unlike the seemingly timeless rose we so admire, we may pass this place but once in a single lifetime before we tire.
So while we are still here in our garden let us propose, to others through our presence we are known as “matta laka” rose.
And as the seasons approach their last turn, the roses are completing their final run.
Blossoming and foliage still growing, without the prospects of the future knowing.
As we live our lives and grow older, like the rose the beauty of life will always be as seen in the eye of the beholder.
Now as I bring this poetic ditty to an end, let us all be empowered by the tidings we extend.
To all who embrace the rose gardens of life we have grown, may they receive the true rewards of joy we have known.
And to you who have endured this spate of poetic wit. I pray you will grant me the title of author and not as that of a twit.