Grandma, Our Rose (1892-1992)

There is a precious garden
at the edge of the river
and we notice a lively
meander, the water is
smooth then rippling

our garden is a bed
of roses, and our hearts
are the roots and the blend
of family and traditions,
our inheritance

you are our Crimson Glory.

A fragrance flows along
with the current, a scent
of fresh roses, some are
pink, others red and

yours stands out, full
and prim, it is erect
and proud-

we watch from the riverbank
and notice with happy smiles
the flow of water taking that
bouquet forward-

we know the river of life goes
on and we sense the loss of
a beloved one, but our rose is
still erect and proud.

We cherish its sweet scent.

© Richard L. Provencher