White Rose. Poetry Corner. Saturday, September 15, 2012

Sometimes, we lose a loved one far too early.

White Rose

White Rose

My father-in-law told me of his sorrow as a young boy when he visited the cemetery and saw so many small graves.

Childhood death is not as common now as then, but just as sorrowful.


Sorrow and the Flowers. – A Memorial Wreath to C. F.
White Rose:

Her grave is not a grave; it is a shrine,
Where innocence reposes,
Bright over which God’s stars must love to shine,
And where, when Winter closes,
Fair Spring shall come, and in her garland twine,
Just like this hand of mine,
The whitest of white roses.


Abram Joseph Ryan (1838 – 1886)


Thanks to yourcontent.net for reprinting this public domain poem.


Carol Covin, Granny-Guru

Author, “Who Gets to Name Grandma? The Wisdom of Mothers and Grandmothers

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