Donning our big straw hats,
garden tools and gloves,
we head to the rose garden.
I get so busy I sometimes forget
to take time to smell the roses.
But when the 'girls' come to visit
in the warm days of spring,
we spend our time on the roses.
I know we are working
on much more than just my garden.
There is so much I need tell them,
and hope I will have time.
I want to teach them to have faith,
to set realistic goals,
but never let go of their dreams.
I want to give them a sense of pride,
in the hope they once were,
in the person they are now,
and in the women they will become.
I want to share with them
all the beauty this world possesses,
yet protect them from its hurts,
and shelter them from its harm.
I have memories to pass on,
heirlooms to pass down,
and my wisdom to share.
I want to tell them how important they are,
for they have restored my hope,
and made my dreams come true.
I need them to know
that a piece of me will live on in them,
long after my days end.
As we work together in the garden,
I try to take the time to tell them
as much about life as I can...
about the beauty of the roses,
the special care of them,
and the hurt of the thorns.
For now, they are only interested
in how soon there will be blossoms
and if their fragrance will fill the air.
But I know that they are listening,
and they will glean more from me
then just my knowledge of roses.
We will turn more than just soil,
feed more than just the plants
and prune more than dead branches.
The 'roses' I am planting in them,
are meant to be cultivated
in the garden of their hearts,
with tender petals of love,
kept sheltered and protected
by thorns of faith and wisdom,
from hate and cruelty,
for all the world to see,
and heaven up above.
Raising 3 sons left me often feeling
as if I were missing something.
Since the birth of my grandaughters,
I am finding out what it was.
This is for the roses in my garden...
Kassandra & Katarina... my girls!
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