The Coalport Rose

Some say fresh roses will win a lady's heart.
Some say that a porcelain rose better reflects undying love.
This poem was written after the death of my wife, 2 September, 1994.
As a sign to her of undying love,
of love that in years wont fade,
of love that was true, that would last all their days
he gave her a Coalport rose.

For a garden flower will wither and die
and the truth may well be forgot,
but their love was true and forever would bloom
in the like of a Coalport rose.

Then she kept it there 'side the bed they shared
in a slim white Coalport vase
and as time went by and her health did fail
they would speak of the Coalport Rose.

Now its silk green leaves guard the silent grave
of their love that's forever gone
and the pool of tears from his reddened eyes
wash the buds of the Coalport rose.

No withering flower from a garden drawn
could reflect the love they shared,
or to sway in the breeze for a thousand years
like the shining Coalport rose.

Now the grass grows lush on the years old grave
from his care of the years before
and amongst it there near the graves so bare
stands proud, his Coalport rose.

Then he died again on a day in spring
and was laid to rest near her,
and though friends did know that it never would grow,
there appeared one day at the head of his grave
'mongst the withering flowers of the graves nearby
a second Coalport rose.

Copyright. Greg Barlow. March 1995.