A Rose Arose
One cloudy day, as he walked that hillside
there, in a brief ray of sunlight he saw
a singular Rose, dying
between the Lilac and the Blackthorn
that were overgrown and overhanging.
A blood red Rose, amid a crown of thorns
that were barely tied to its tall, dense stem.
He knew it was a tree rose, but wondered
how it came to be in that location.
Might someone have tried to start a garden?
It was cold that Friday in October
but somehow he had become determined
to save that spirited Rose.
He left and returned with his wheelbarrow
plus tools, to prune the Lilac and Blackthorn.
He then clipped the only remaining Rose
and saved it in his coat.
Carefully he bundled and tied the canes.
He dug a trench extending outward from
the plant’s base and as long as the plant’s height.
He loosened the soil surrounding the base
and he quietly laid the rose to rest.
He covered it with soil and mounded it.
He buried it in mulch, then returned home
and pressed that rose flower into pages
of the poignant book that he was reading.
In springtime he returned to that hillside
removed the mulch and resurrected
the rose
staked and tied it so that it would not fall.
He came back many times to care for it
but always, when he was done
he returned to the priory
from whence he had come.