A garden grew in splendor inside the wrought iron gate,
Tended by loving hands, hired by the wealthy owner of this estate.
Along the side a lovely rose with twisted stems did grow,
When and where it came from no one seemed to know.
Its beauty was overlooked due to its twisted stems
The lady of the house was allowed her high-born whims.
The order to remove the rose was given, and was swiftly done,
Remorsefully by the hired gardener, the proud father of a son.
The little boy had twisted limbs that put frowns of pain upon his face,
But he was loved with passion and cared for with God's sweetest grace.
The lady looked at the rose with eyes that clearly said,
Perfection is what I demand and you are drab as lead!
The gardener's boy had seen this look, all of his young life,
And the hurt that it caused him, left pain that cut like knives.
The rose was beautiful to the gardener, just as was his son,
So he packed it in watered paper to take when his day was done.
Home it went to be admired by less critical eyes of his family,
In the ground it was placed and fed for all the world to see.
Though it never stood straight and tall, its flowers did give,
The sweetest scent ever smelled for as long as it did live.
No one there seemed to notice it's bent and twisted stems,
And the rose taught the boy to overlook his twisted limbs.
Beauty comes not from the surface; nor from perfection,
It comes from all parts of us, under God's Divine direction.
© Norma Marek ~ 2001
Please respect author copyright, do not use or copy
poetry without first seeking permission from the author.
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