The
Rose
and the Rosebush
The
rose is soft, tender, beautiful.
Budding
and growing
While
bees and butterflies lull
To
smiling sun and crystal rain.
Its
petals are smooth vermilion,
Its
leaves vibrant verdant,
Its
stem studded with sharp spines.
The
bud rises and falls,
Existence
fragile as butterflies’ wings.
Upon
the wind its fragrance calls,
Life
frail and fleeting.
This
rose, however, isn’t alone.
Bud
of a greater whole,
A
rosebush with pinprick bristles,
Roots,
stems, leaves—all work together,
In
a cohesive whole, it produces many buds like her.
Roots,
strong foundation
Nourishing
home in the soil,
Stems
and leaves: lifeblood stations
Support
preparing strength for the future.
Some
say love is like a rose.
Beautiful,
soft, stirred by wind,
Fragile,
fleeting, it flows
As
Life.
The
rose is mortal.
Once
cut to the stem received:
It
dies, alive no more.
Without
the vine,
Its
fruit will disband.
A
bodiless foot
Can
never hope to stand.
But
true love,
God’s
love,
Our love…is
the rosebush.
Buds
bloom and wither,
But
the plant remains forever.
Beautiful
roses
Arise
from a thriving rosebush.
By
watering the plant’s core
rather
than the petals,
The
love will grow, and live.
Forevermore.