My grandmother’s favorite flower was the yellow rose.
This poem is in dedication to her.
The Great Gardener asked a rose,
“What color shall I paint you?”
The rose thought for a moment then chose,
She replied, “I wish to be warm,”
“Paint me yellow like the sun!”
God replied, “Beloved, this will be fun,”
Then gave her a beautiful form.
In God she did reside,
For eighty-one years she thrived.
Through both good and harsh seasons she survived,
She would describe,
With God’s nurture,
She would be revived.
A life renewed feeling so alive.
From the Creator’s hands she was made,
And many days and nights the rose prayed,
Until death came as a poisonous nightshade.
The yellow rose slowly began to fade,
But only into a new and different shade.
Now she is home,
A heavenly space,
A wonderful place.
With no more sorrows, tears, or fears,
It is not a place that darkens.
Within the Master’s Light-filled Gardens,
Where her face will eternally shine,
Connected to Christ,
the Great Vine.
She remains Beautiful and Divine.
© M. Keith Sartin, Jr.