My adopted mother had thirty-six major surgeries
before we lost her to intestinal blockages.
She spent many days bound to
the bed, propped up by feather pillows.
I busied myself fluffing them for her.
I guess it was my way of trying
to make her more comfortable.
But in all honesty,
I just wanted to be near her as much as possible.
Mom and Dad became my guardians
when my biological mother abandoned me,
and they decided later to adopt me.
I also spent some time with our neighbour, Rose.
It was a beautiful spring day,
and on such days you could find me walking
down the country path
to an elderly neighbour’s home.
It was my retreat from the cares of the world.
She was so kind and gentle with me.
Her patience seemed to be without end.
When she smiled, it warmed my heart.
We could talk for an hour.
But the real reasons for my visits
were her magnificent flower garden,
and a little comforting conversation.
Rose's home sat back off the road
and her driveway curved back and forth
with large shade trees
towering over the road
to meet in the center.
In the distance I could see her flowers in bloom.
All spring and summer,
different varieties, sizes,
and shapes grew.
They perfumed both the outside and inside of her home.
The sweet scent of gardenia
permeated the front yard as I entered.
(I can still smell that wonderful fragrance
when I think about her.)
The house was small and simple.
It had a wrap-around porch
(we called it a veranda),
that beckoned us
to "come sit a spell."
That is exactly what I did,
as I sipped on refreshing lemonade
she kept handy for such visits.
In the ceiling of the porch
was a fan for those hot,
sultry southern days.
And so it was;
we shared the simple things in life,
stories of her childhood,
and my concerns for my mother
and her health.
We strolled through her garden at ease,
as she named each variety and color
of flower in bloom.
She often carried a basket across her arm
in which she'd randomly bend down
and snip a few as we walked and talked.
One day as we were taking a stroll,
she stopped and sat down on her wooden bench,
which I called her "wisdom bench,"
because it was there she often
shared a few tidbits about life in general.
I always left there feeling
as if something wonderful
and magical
had been instilled in me.
This day,
as she looked deeply into my eyes,
tears began to form.
before we lost her to intestinal blockages.
She spent many days bound to
the bed, propped up by feather pillows.
I busied myself fluffing them for her.
I guess it was my way of trying
to make her more comfortable.
But in all honesty,
I just wanted to be near her as much as possible.
Mom and Dad became my guardians
when my biological mother abandoned me,
and they decided later to adopt me.
I also spent some time with our neighbour, Rose.
It was a beautiful spring day,
and on such days you could find me walking
down the country path
to an elderly neighbour’s home.
It was my retreat from the cares of the world.
She was so kind and gentle with me.
Her patience seemed to be without end.
When she smiled, it warmed my heart.
We could talk for an hour.
But the real reasons for my visits
were her magnificent flower garden,
and a little comforting conversation.
Rose's home sat back off the road
and her driveway curved back and forth
with large shade trees
towering over the road
to meet in the center.
In the distance I could see her flowers in bloom.
All spring and summer,
different varieties, sizes,
and shapes grew.
They perfumed both the outside and inside of her home.
The sweet scent of gardenia
permeated the front yard as I entered.
(I can still smell that wonderful fragrance
when I think about her.)
The house was small and simple.
It had a wrap-around porch
(we called it a veranda),
that beckoned us
to "come sit a spell."
That is exactly what I did,
as I sipped on refreshing lemonade
she kept handy for such visits.
In the ceiling of the porch
was a fan for those hot,
sultry southern days.
And so it was;
we shared the simple things in life,
stories of her childhood,
and my concerns for my mother
and her health.
We strolled through her garden at ease,
as she named each variety and color
of flower in bloom.
She often carried a basket across her arm
in which she'd randomly bend down
and snip a few as we walked and talked.
One day as we were taking a stroll,
she stopped and sat down on her wooden bench,
which I called her "wisdom bench,"
because it was there she often
shared a few tidbits about life in general.
I always left there feeling
as if something wonderful
and magical
had been instilled in me.
This day,
as she looked deeply into my eyes,
tears began to form.
But instead of saying anything,
she just gathered my tiny body to her
and held me for some time.
We made our way back to her house,
singing as we walked.
she just gathered my tiny body to her
and held me for some time.
We made our way back to her house,
singing as we walked.
Before I left,
she asked me to wait while she went inside.
When she came back out,
she had a beautiful bouquet
that she had placed in a large glass vase
with a bow around it.
She handed them to me
and said to give them to my mother.
Along with it was a note which said,
"Thank you for sharing your daughter.
I hope to see you soon around the bend."
That beautiful lady and her home
have long since left this world.
But her gentleness, wisdom,
and love abide forever in my heart.
As for the flowers . . .
they still came up every spring.
I moved from that wonderful southern town,
married,
and now have adult children
and grandchildren of my own.
I hope that I can share my love of flowers,
and the wisdom taught to me,
but most of all,
I hope they will learn love
and compassion –
as I did from Rose.
I want their world to be a better place
because some of Rose was instilled in me. 1
she asked me to wait while she went inside.
When she came back out,
she had a beautiful bouquet
that she had placed in a large glass vase
with a bow around it.
She handed them to me
and said to give them to my mother.
Along with it was a note which said,
"Thank you for sharing your daughter.
I hope to see you soon around the bend."
That beautiful lady and her home
have long since left this world.
But her gentleness, wisdom,
and love abide forever in my heart.
As for the flowers . . .
they still came up every spring.
I moved from that wonderful southern town,
married,
and now have adult children
and grandchildren of my own.
I hope that I can share my love of flowers,
and the wisdom taught to me,
but most of all,
I hope they will learn love
and compassion –
as I did from Rose.
I want their world to be a better place
because some of Rose was instilled in me. 1
The last rose of summer,
Is fading fast away...
Like a person who is growing old,
And now has hair of gray.
No swelling of branches,
With buds and blooms to come..
I fear your days of beauty,
Are numbered and near done.
Effects of hot dry summer,
Have taken heavy toll...
Became a struggle to survive,
We both made that our goal.
Is fading fast away...
Like a person who is growing old,
And now has hair of gray.
No swelling of branches,
With buds and blooms to come..
I fear your days of beauty,
Are numbered and near done.
Effects of hot dry summer,
Have taken heavy toll...
Became a struggle to survive,
We both made that our goal.
The sun lacks warmth that it once had,
The days now seem quite short...
The very things a rose must have,
Are not there for support.
With fall now fast upon us,
I watch as you retreat...
To seek the sanctuary of
Deep earth beneath my feet.
I'll miss your gorgeous colors
The scent of your perfume...
That wafted through each window,
And freshened every room.
Next spring I'll watch for signs of life,
Along with much elation...
For brand new leaves and bursting buds,
That are my inspiration.
Farewell my fading beauty,
Time you recuperate...
I'll see you in the springtime,
Impatient while I wait. 2
The rose is fairest
when 'tis budding new,
And hope is brightest
when it dawns from fears. 3
Now that you have reached a new level of being,
you may be tempted to look back at the past with regret.
You may think of the many higher,
more loving ways you could have handled some things.
Yet those very incidents provided you with the growth
that allows you to now see a better way of behaving.
. . . Everything that happens
is meant to help move you into your greater self . . .
If it had not been for those incidents in the past
you would not be who you are now. 4
God gave us our memories
so that we might have roses in December. 5
A single rose can be my garden;
a single friend,
my world. 6
You can complain
because roses have thorns,
or you can rejoice
because thorns have roses. 7
The days now seem quite short...
The very things a rose must have,
Are not there for support.
With fall now fast upon us,
I watch as you retreat...
To seek the sanctuary of
Deep earth beneath my feet.
I'll miss your gorgeous colors
The scent of your perfume...
That wafted through each window,
And freshened every room.
Next spring I'll watch for signs of life,
Along with much elation...
For brand new leaves and bursting buds,
That are my inspiration.
Farewell my fading beauty,
Time you recuperate...
I'll see you in the springtime,
Impatient while I wait. 2
The rose is fairest
when 'tis budding new,
And hope is brightest
when it dawns from fears. 3
Now that you have reached a new level of being,
you may be tempted to look back at the past with regret.
You may think of the many higher,
more loving ways you could have handled some things.
Yet those very incidents provided you with the growth
that allows you to now see a better way of behaving.
. . . Everything that happens
is meant to help move you into your greater self . . .
If it had not been for those incidents in the past
you would not be who you are now. 4
God gave us our memories
so that we might have roses in December. 5
A single rose can be my garden;
a single friend,
my world. 6
You can complain
because roses have thorns,
or you can rejoice
because thorns have roses. 7
Credits:
[1] -Around The Bend ~Marie Williams (2003)
[2] -The Last Rose Of Summer ~Loree (Mason) O'Neil
[3] ~Sir Walter Scott
[4] ~Sanaya Roman, Living With Joy
[5] ~J. M. Barrie
[6] ~Leo F. Buscaglia
[7] ~Ziggy Marley
Media: The Last Rose Of Summer
Presented by Dawn Cove Abbey
[1] -Around The Bend ~Marie Williams (2003)
[2] -The Last Rose Of Summer ~Loree (Mason) O'Neil
[3] ~Sir Walter Scott
[4] ~Sanaya Roman, Living With Joy
[5] ~J. M. Barrie
[6] ~Leo F. Buscaglia
[7] ~Ziggy Marley
Media: The Last Rose Of Summer
Presented by Dawn Cove Abbey
To submit comments, requests or materials,
contact me at outreach@dawncoveabbey.org
contact me at outreach@dawncoveabbey.org
I gladly welcome all article, haiku, humour and poem contributions
For empowerment workshops, seminars and lectures, see: http://www.dawncoveabbey.org/healing-circle
For empowerment workshops, seminars and lectures, see: http://www.dawncoveabbey.org/healing-circle
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Visit our sister website Stella Maris Community
- for prayer requests and more HERE
- for prayer requests and more HERE
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MorningStar Inspiration from Dawn Cove Abbey
Roadside assistance for your Journey through Life
Layout Design and Presentation Crafted by KT+
_______________________________________________________
MorningStar Inspiration from Dawn Cove Abbey
Roadside assistance for your Journey through Life
Layout Design and Presentation Crafted by KT+
_______________________________________________________
