MARY'S ROSES

FRIDAY WRITINGS at Poets & Storytellers, and we're asked to consider our observations of the depressing news of our current times.   At 88 years of age, I can hardly lead a march or run for office, but I can do my small part to spread a bit of cheer and kindness at any opportunity.  I was reminded of this poem about a lady whose small act was to plant a rose bush and bring some beauty to her part of the world.  Her thoughtfulness lingers on, and so might ours.

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MARY'S ROSES

Mary planted roses by the door

In that time so long ago

Through lace curtains at the window

She watched them bloom and grow.

Those days are long since gone

Faded into pages of the past

But still the roses vine and bloom

Each year as beautiful as the last.

The lace now hangs in tatters

The cottage vacant and still

The oaks still overlook it all

From their spot upon the hill.

Mary is but a memory

To those who loved her best

But still her roses vine and bloom

Since she’s been laid to rest.

So we, too, leave a legacy

In small things we have done

And we leave a gossamer footprint

That lingers after we have gone.