The Rose Bush

The rosebush proudly presided

Where a young couple resided

On a modest street

Deep pink, American Beauty blooms

Their sweet perfume, his heartfelt gift

A year after they wed (in 1934)

When he pledged

To love her forever

And evermore.

Three years before, at sweet sixteen

Through Depression Era snow

Blowing, ankle-deep, rubber boots, double socks,

Five, six, or seven blocks

She trudged to school each day

And chased away

Bullies that taunted her brother.

They never had a lot of money

But she loved the smell of her mother’s bread baking

And warm biscuits dripping with jam or honey.

Their father earned a nickel

For every car he striped.

And he carried lost kittens

In his oversized mittens

Home to his children and wife.

They didn’t have much

But always enough -

And most of all, love.

She was the middle child, one of three

When she met her handsome and humble

Boy from Missouri

It didn’t take long to give him her heart

And they set off together to forge a new start.

Through pouring rain and blinding snow,

He rode a bus back and forth to the factory

While the rosebush slept, its winter sleep

And dreamed of blooming again in Spring.

He helped build cars

As they welcomed a son

And their little bungalow

Was filled with love.

Once two hearts, now three

A sweet and growing family.

The roses blossomed with delight

At so many precious boyhood sights

Cowboy hats, baseball bats

Pockets full of chirping frogs

Cabins made from Lincoln Logs

Nine years passed, time, how it flew

And the roses always returned

In their rich, magnificent hue.

Then in Autumn, their daughter arrived

With soft brown curls and the bluest eyes

She loved to dance, ballet and tap,

And sit upon her Daddy’s lap

At each recital, he beamed as she twirled

His “little dancer,” Daddy’s Girl

He filled her arms with gorgeous roses

And marveled at her “movie star” poses

The fifties were a magical time

And she grew before his eyes.

Her first twelve springs,

The American Beauties thrived,

Then suddenly, her father died

On Thanksgiving Day, a loss so hard to bear

His young widow and children,

Were filled with despair.

His son married at eighteen

And had four kids

He planted the rosebush

Wherever they lived.

In three different states,

Four different homes,

The roses endured

Their pink petals shone

Through his children’s graduations,

Marriages, and milestones

Through sickness and health

Grandkids, divorces – including his own.

One day as he gazed at the petals so full,

He thought of his parents, now both passed away,

And his dear sister back in their childhood state

She had two children – (My brother and me)

Tears slid down his cheeks, in silent reverie.

My uncle wanted to spend the time he had left with his “Sis”

To try and make up for the years they had missed.

My mom’s only brother

Brought the rosebush back “home”

To stay at my parents’ where we could all watch it grow.

And now, I could share it, with a son of my own.

My mom and my uncle shared many precious later years,

They fished, cooked, cracked silly jokes, and cried many tears.

This year marks ten since my uncle died

He passed on their dad’s birthday – and all of us cried.

I never met my grandpa – but when I think of “home,”

I think of that rosebush – and the faith, hope, and love that it sowed.

Seven decades of blooms – through good and tough times

How is it possible, that a plant so old could survive?

It lived year after year, as our family grew

Like petals on flowers and roses on vines,

We flourished with love, and our love multiplied.

Its final rose sprouted, shortly after my uncle passed.

My mom felt it must be a sign

That her parents and brother are together and fine.