Love is always first awake
Always fresh.  First to know
From the early bud to full
Bloom. from Spring to Fall
The sadness that is its going
Dying then and shorn of it's
Beauty only thorns upon
The still green stem.  The
Whole is greater than the
Sum.  Love writes  our
History; closes the book
And says with it's last
Words that it is  to love
The final victory's given:
The meaning of all the  
Rest. As it was in the
Beginning a rose is for
Forever to me with love


For Grandma Rose