The Rose

The Rose

Every year he brought a rose,

same soft smile, same careful way,

like the first time never left,

like it never turned to gray.

Hands were rough but held it light,

as if something pure might break,

every step he took toward her

held more meaning than it’d take.

She would look as if surprised,

though she knew it all along,

still her heart would catch a beat,

still the feeling stayed as strong.

There’s a pause before her smile,

where the years all pass at once,

memories within her eyes

speaking louder than her voice.

Then the tears would gently fall,

not from sorrow, not from pain,

but because he still remembered

year by year, again, again.

Time had taken much away,

strength and speed and careless days,

but it never touched the promise

he had kept in quiet ways.

It was never just the rose,

it was what it came to mean,

love that didn’t need to shout,

love that simply stayed unseen.

In a world that lets things fade,

he held on and never forgot,

and that’s why it made her cry—

he still loved her. He still brought A rose.

#truelove #neverforgot #grandad #simplelove #go #Marie381UkWriter