My Madeline

I feel like I’ve lost the rose of my life,
but that isn’t really so.
For she reached full bloom in the garden,
and so it was time to go.

She endured many seasons of storms,
was windblown and pelted with rain.
But she graciously rose above it all,
without much thought to complain.

For compassion ran deep in her roots and stem,
and forgiveness had brightened each leaf.
Each petal was filled with the beauty of love,
in spite of her sorrow and grief.

She rose in the midst of my garden,
and while with me by her side,
the petals fell off and dropped to the ground,
and the physical rose had died.

But death is mainly illusion,
it doesn’t signal the end.
It ushers in new realities,
to which we then transcend.

For I know that my rose will rise again,
take root in much higher ground;
and there, become a perfect rose,
where peace may at last be found.

For all of life is eternal:
an energy breathed from above.
My rose had shed all of her thorns,
and all that remained was love.