I’m sure many of you have found yourself at the bedside of a loved one this year gone by, either actually or in your thoughts, wishing them a speedy recovery. I am sorry to say that on this New Year’s Day, we are in that situation. I wrote this poem in the hopes that all will be well in the end. May we all consider the hardiest of roses, when, in our worry, we contemplate and marvel at the strength and resilience and determination of those we love, in their hour of need.
The roses are the glory of the garden.
The other flowers bow their heads in shame.
The iris and the lily do their bidding.
The amaryllis cowers at their name.
The roses line the trellis of the garden.
The rosebush spreads its wings, as if to fly.
The buds are bursting with anticipation.
The least intruder, every thorn defies.
Though winter weeds grow thick throughout the garden,
Its sturdy bones are strong and bound to last.
For though a thousand vines entwine upon it,
The rose withstands the winter’s icy blast.
So too must you, my rosebud, use your glory,
And fight the fight and fend off this attack,
For all the world awaits, till you awaken,
And all we know and love comes flooding back.
Copyright 2021 Andrea LeDew
For another poem on gardens, read August or The Enclosed Garden. For another poem about severe illness and the fight against it, read The Deadliest Day.