Her hand was pale <br />and held a single rose, <br />picked from his garden <br />and happy to oblige. <br />A change of scenery <br />the promise of a home <br />among so many flowers, <br />and lovely melodies <br />of birds in residence. <br />She could not bring herself, <br />within the silence of her heart <br />to dropp the rose into the grave. <br />A stubborn thought had come <br />on frizzly wings, it stayed. <br />She could not take him home, <br />was free to take his rose <br />to care for as his loving hands <br />had done to his last day.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-rose/
