Saturday, July 25, 2009

short story----The Rose


Red roses were her favorites,

Her name was also Rose,

And every year her husband sent them,

tied with pretty bows.

The year he died,

the roses were delivered to her door.

The card said, "Be my Valentine,"

like all the years before.

Each year he sent her roses,

and the note would always say,

"I love you even more this year,

than last year on this day.

My love for you will always grow,

with every passing year."

She knew this was the last time

that the roses would appear.

She thought, he ordered roses

in advance before this day.

Her loving husband did not know,

that he would pass away.

He always liked things early,

way before the time.

Then if he got too busy,

everything would work out fine.

She trimmed the stems,

and placed them in a very special vase.

Then, sat the vase

beside the portrait of his smiling face.

She would sit for hours,

in her husband's favorite chair.

While staring at his picture,

and the roses sitting there.

A year went by,

and it was hard to live without her mate.

With loneliness and solitude,

that had become her fate.

Then that very hour,

as on Valentine's before,

The doorbell rang, and there were roses,

sitting by her door.

She brought the roses in,

and just looked at them in shock.

Then, she went to get the telephone,

to call the florist shop.

The owner answered, and she asked him,

if he would explain,

Why would someone do this to her,

causing her such pain?

"I know your husband passed away,

more than a year ago,"

The owner said, "I knew you'd call,

and you would want to know.

The flowers you received today,

were paid for in advance,

your husband always planned ahead,

he left nothing to chance.

There is a standing order,

that I have on file down here,

as he has paid, well in advance,

you'll get them every year.

There is also another thing,

that I think you should know,

He wrote a special little card...he did this years ago,

Then should I find out that he's no longer here,

That's the card...that should be sent to you the following year."

She thanked him and hung up the phone,

her tears now flowing hard.

Her fingers shaking, as she slowly

reached to get the card.

Inside the card, she saw that he

had written her a note.

Then, as she stared in total silence,

this is what he wrote...

"Hello my love, I know

it's been a year since I've been gone,

I hope it hasn't been too hard

for you to overcome.

I know it must be lonely,

and the pain is very real.

Or if it was the other way,

I know how I would feel.

The love we shared made everything

so beautiful in life,

I loved you more than words can say,

you were the perfect wife.

You were my friend and lover,

you fulfilled my every need.

I know it's only been a year,

but please try not to grieve.

I want you to be happy,

even when you shed your tears.

That is why the roses

will be sent to you for years.

When you get these roses,

think of all the happiness,

that we had together,

and how both of us were blessed.

I have always loved you,

and you know I always will.

But my love, you must go on,

you have some living still.

Please... try to find happiness,

while living out your days.

I know it is not easy,

but I hope you find some ways.

The roses will come every year,

and they will only stop,

When your door's not answered,

when the florist stops to knock.

He will come five times that day,

in case you have gone out.

But after his last visit,

he will know without a doubt.

To take the roses to the place,

where I've instructed him.

And place them where we are,

together once again.

Sometimes in life, you find a special friend;

Someone who changes your life just by being part of it.

Someone who makes you laugh until you can't stop;

Someone who makes you believe that there really is good in the world.

Someone who convinces you that there really is an unlocked door just waiting
for you to open it.

This is forever friendship.

-- Author Unknown

Saturday, July 18, 2009

the most beautiful flower....


The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read

Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree

Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown

For the world was intent on dragging me down

And if that weren't enough to ruin my day

A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play

He stood right before me with his head tilted down

And said with great excitement, "Look what I found"

In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight

With its petals all worn - not enough rain, or too little light

Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play

I faked a small smile and then shifted away

But instead of retreating he sat next to my side

And placed the flower to his nose

And declared with overacted surprise

"It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful, too"

"That's why I picked it; here, it's for you"

The weed before me was dying or dead

Not vibrant of colors: orange, yellow or red

But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave

So I reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need"

But instead of him placing the flower in my hand

He held it mid-air without reason or plan

It was then that I noticed for the very first time

That weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind

I heard my voice quiver; tears shone in the sun

As I thanked him for picking the very best one

"You're welcome," he smiled, and then ran off to play

Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day.

I sat there and wondered how he managed to see

A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree

How did he know of my self-indulged plight

Perhaps from his heart, he'd been blessed with true sight

Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see

The problem was not with the world; the problem was me

And for all of those times I myself had been blind

I vowed to see the beauty in life

And appreciate every second that's mine

And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose

And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose

And smiled as I watched that young boy

Another weed in his hand

About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man

-- Author Unknown