We have not met since transplanting her in a new garden among other seedlings neatly measured about.
I embraced you there and felt your pain, as I did today at our all to brief meeting.
You said you left feeling serene and spoke of the importance of surrounding yourself with fine company that mends the heart.
I drove away feeling broken-hearted as my eyes glazed with tears.
You no longer had the strong scent of jasmine that is your laughter, but a solemn demeanor of a flower that is slowly losing its pedals.
There is beauty still in your garden, though you may have lost your prize rose; two flowers needing tender care as they grow from bud to blossom; two grafted from you and her not that long ago.
Water them frequently and be the bright sun in their life that shines in the month that shares your name – June.
And when you go to visit her in her new garden, know that it is not the garden keeper that plants the flowers there, but it is the flowers that grow from the love she shared, the loving mother she was and the wife who is always in your heart.
Your Prize Rose
Bruce Rowe © 2018