Now to tell the tale of what I’d sown,
Of lawns and trees and roses, stones inlaid.
How proud I was of all that I had grown,
A vacant lot to sanctuary made.
The roses were my fav’rite, and I dreamt
Of climbing stalks and blossoms bursting tall.
My winter reveries and summers bent
On nurturing those sunny faces all.
But only flowers three came forth from green,
And two were taken early by a frost.
The one surviving rose I pressed between
Two parchment leaves, blind to what I’d lost.
My promise darling one this day I give
To you, to watch you grow, to see you live!
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This photo shows my now 16-yr old stand of Single Dortmund Climbing Roses, planted with much hope and without much skill in 2001.
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© WhatHabit Co. and Words For Leaving, 2010 to 2016. All rights reserved.

Sanctuary