the Rose...

I've been thinking about death lately. I guess it's because one month ago today Buddy died. And I've been thinking about roses, because roses and death kind of coincide. Roses signify peace, beauty, sometimes strength, and sometimes a little bit of the darkness in each of us. And death, even. A black rose or wilting rose is often aging and death.

Today I'm thinking about roses and Buddy. I remember the time when he walked over to one of the rosebushes in the front yard, and instead of sniffing out a flower he found a cat. That was interesting. He always loved to let the cats know who was in charge. It drove that beagle nuts when Oreo, our neighborhood joker, would sit just out of reach on the other side of the fence. Or when Buddy would be inside on the couch, just resting, and suddenly he'd get a whiff of cat outside in the yard. Up he'd get to the window, hackles raised, quivering from head to toe with blood lust. Still, he never did know what to do with a cat once he'd caught it. He'd corner it near a fence or something and just stand there, whining and barking, completely clueless.

I miss him.

I miss Buddy so much. I didn't write this piece because of missing him-it was actually during a Sunday School lesson where my teacher was talking about how cutting the flower from the plant causes it to die, and that can be like a testimony. But I wanted to write a little bit about Buddy, and share this poem I wrote. I don't know if it's any good, or what sort of symbolism you might pick up from it ('cause I didn't really have much in mind), but I like it.

the Rose

The beauty of the Rose-
so fragile and fair-
pricks hearts by its grace.
Silent pleading for gentle
praise and tender care.

The beauty of the Rose
contains courage and strength.
Bright colors stand out from all,
proclaims itself to those
who see.

The beauty of the Rose;
The courage of its fight;
Both encompass the hidden darkness
of forgotten sharpness
within,

only discovered, and accepted,
then loved,
by the one who
truly knows
the Rose.