Hope Like Crimson Roses

Broken bits of autumn leaves
Press into the ground
As we stand huddled against the chill.

“I’m mad at God today.”

Single file
Eight men assemble
In solemn rows
To lift the cherry box

And I wrap my arms around
My youngest daughter,
Shielding her body from cold,
But not her heart from

Death.

Words slip into the wind,
Brilliant bits of hope rising
Like crimson roses
On this heavy gray day

“He heals the brokenhearted and
Binds up their wounds.”

Promises.

“Precious in the sight of the Lord
Is the death of one of his saints.”

We weep.
He dances.
We imagine.
He knows.

“Hope,” he always said,
“Is all we’ve got.”

And it rises with the dawn.

*I am offering this poem and some of these photos for the challenges: Look Up and From My Back through The High Calling and TS Poetry Press.

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