Yellow Roses

Dedicated to
Gregory Douglas Turner
1969-1992


Big yellow roses
Pretty and thornless
Like you gave me years ago.
Together we planted those yellow roses
On my birthday.
Son, how you glowed.
I remember you said:
"Momma, here's roses,
Pretty and thornless."
But your hands, Son, were in shreds.
You watered the petals
Of those big roses
With tears shed removing thorns.
Son, here are roses,
Big yellow roses.
Pretty and thornless
Like you gave me years ago.
I bring you roses
On my birthday;
See, they've grown.
Remember those roses,
Big yellow roses,
Pretty and thornless,
Like you gave me years ago.
Together we planted those yellow roses
On my birthday.
Son, how you glowed.
I remember you said:
"Momma, here's roses,
Pretty and thornless."
But your hands, Son, were in shreds.
Together we've watered
Those yellow roses
With tears we've both shed.
Remember those roses,
Big yellow roses,
Pretty and thornless,
That you gave me
years ago . . .

— Sandra S. Corona

Age Twenty-three

In Memory
of Gregory Douglas Turner
Aug. 8, 1969-Dec. 3, 1992
Age 23

The clock stopped,
your heart ceased
at age twenty-three.
I fell to my knees.
"Do hear my plea, Lord.
You've been through losing a child;
we both had only one son.
Mine is only twenty-three,
please . . . reconsider, take me?"
Eerie silence weaves through trees,
surely He heard me.
With the greatest ease
He replied aloud.
"Dying is not my domain.
It's of nature . . . like the rain.
Cherish years, those twenty-three,
and please do not forsake me."
Our pain rained, a storm seized . . .
far as I could see.
I rose from my knees,
smiling through old tears.
"Thanks, Lord, for those twenty-three
years I held onto my son.
Sincerely, Lord, thank you,
for each and every one."

— Sandra S. Corona