This poem was written in October 1997, just after I saw my mother for the last time on her death bed and attended her funeral. I was 17 and in grade 12 and had not seen her in 5 years prior to that due to the fact that I could not handle her mental illness, paranoid schizophrenia. My brother saw his birth mom for the first time that he could remember 5 hours before she died. I came back to school at Prairie Bible Institute and wrote this in a social studies class. I hope it blesses you. My life has been far from easy, but despite everything it has been beautiful in its own right. I am enclosing two copies because I am not sure what will be easier to access.

A little girl is like a rose
She slowly grows into a woman as a bud grows into full bloom.
When problems and struggles enter into life she starts to fade
Because she is lacking water, hope and love.
She looks to the thorns for keeping her upright.

There is another rose fully erect nearby the fragile blossom.
The upright rose sees the great pain for she was once a rose fading.
In her heart she prays for a miracle in this precious rose’s life something to give her hope,
The Master Gardener maybe?

One day the little dying rose sees the Master Gardener
He has marks from nail piercings in His hands and feet from saving other little roses.
The Master Gardener comes to the rose with a wonderful warmth and gentleness surrounding Him
It is genuine
The Gardener is just completely full of love.

The Master Gardener goes to the little rose and tenderly lifts up head,
“Never will I leave you, nor forsake you, little rose, you are very precious to me.”
He then reaches down and gives her the fertilizer she needs;
Suddenly she blossoms and shines for the whole world to see.
The other rose just sits and watches in awe.
She knows the little rose will never be the same.

The Master Gardener turns and notices the other beautiful rose,
“Well done my good and faithful servant, I have heard your prayers, continue praying.”
The Master Gardener then leaves the vicinity of the roses,
But he is always close by when they start to droop.
Each little girl, no matter what has happened to her, is a beautiful rose.

By Belinda (Belle) McKenzie, October 1997
Written in memory of her beautiful mother, Betsy McKenzie,
And in memory of the parents of students from Prairie Bible Institute, who passed away in 1997.
We miss you dearly!