In my garden sits a flower.
Just a solitary rose.
Why it grows there with no other.
Perhaps God only knows.

The winds have yet to take it down,
It survived the summer storms.
No animal has ripped it up,
It’s stands tall in perfect form.

The soil’s not so great there.
It’s somewhat hidden from the light.
Yet it stays there, calm and beautiful,
Through the day and night.

Not a single mark or blemish,
Not a petal out of place.
Rising up so strong and stoic,
Thing of beauty and of grace.

I’ve lost much in this garden,
And perhaps that’s how it goes,
But sure as the sun will rise again,
I still have my perfect rose.

This tiny, vibrant flower,
Best thing my garden ever grew.
I wonder: Was it put here
So I’d always think of you?