Yellow Roses

Yellow roses
had somehow become a symbol
of our friendship and trust;
a tradition
borne upon
what was at first
a timid gesture of affection.
Whenever an occaision would arise,
I would give them to you
and each bouquet was greeted
with that delicate smile
and those excited flashing eyes.

A morning came
when I found my heart
far ahead of yours
and you still clinging
tightly to your freedom.
Yet, we still laughed and shared
in summer days,
comforted and loved
in winter nights.
Knowing that I needed more,
you wished me "bon voyage"
as I drifted to another.
Had I known
that you had given me all
that you could ever give anyone,
I would not have done that.
You just stood quietly,
watching,
saying nothing to help me understand.

Could I have loved you better
with the freshness
of a rainbowish spring bouquet,
the simplicity of a solitary buttercup
or even the passion
of fiery red roses?
Would I miss you any less
had you died in my arms
at God's calling
rather than alone
with only a pillow to hold,
atop that floral printed bedspread?

I have loved since (not with yellow roses)
and I hope to love again,
but during those
quiet lonely hours
I'll bring you yellow roses,
sit next to you
and try to fill the void.....
Remembering.