Last Rose

I stand over the bed of roses covering my mother’s grave; and I watch as my family weep and mourn. Now I am alone, my father is long gone, my mother is dead and my relatives do not wish to take me in, here I am standing, here I am watching here I will say good bye for the last time. I now understand the pain of those who have lost loved ones as I stand and say good bye , as many have stood to say goodbye, to someone who has been ripped from them in an instant, to say good bye to someone they love. My strongest memory, my most cherished memory, of my mother is when we would go to the field behind our house in the long afternoons and lay in the fields of flowers. She would sing and all the birds would fall silent. She would sing and they would answer, repeating her soothing song.

The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.
But I send you a cream-white rosebud
with a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

It was about father, we believed that he would come home if we sang that song. Day after day we sang, night after night we hoped and time and time again we were wrong. That is probably why she was so sad, I did my best but she slipped from me and now I am to blame. I place one last rose on the bed of flowers, her favourite. A white rose.

The funeral ends and I walk down to our field of flowers and sing her song, for the last time.

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