Our Last Red Rose is Fading
Our little Rose grew strong and resilient
~in the Oklahoma Red clay
In times of drought she took in less
~her roots held strong
Her petals danced to the strings
~of the fiddle
Her strong canes rhythmically moved
~over the piano keys
Like a butterfly born to fly
~music lifted her face to the sunshine
Our Last Red Rose is Fading
Her trunk once green and strong stands
~now brown and broken
Her vibrant red buds and blooms bend
~ downward toward the earth
Some years she barely survived,
~now she is weary
Watching her wilt day by day
~we struggle
Then a bud appears out of no hope
~a smile radiates across her face
There is Hope
This rose without a thorn
~is a rare beauty
Three of us stopped suddenly as we neared the par three. The talking stopped and we stood in awe and delight of a magnificent Desert Bighorn Sheep nonchalantly chewing the neatly trimmed and fertilized lush green grasses of the desert homes near the foothills of the mountains where he roams. I slowly crept back to the golf cart and quietly retrieved my camera. Par suddenly wasn't on my mind, but watching him eat, meander, and drift around the green fascinated me. He walked across the bridge right into our way, seeming to nod, "Oh, a camera I see. Let me strut for you and show you who's King here at the Palmer!"
"I'm watching," I told him. He stood and stared for a long time then ignored us completely and slowly climbed right up the ragged mountain side, disappearing in the rocks.
Those of us who are fortunate to enjoy the outdoors, whether in golf, hiking, biking, exploring, or simply being in tuned to nature, are so often blessed with a glimpse of the magnificents.
~now brown and broken
