I watched you hold a rose yesterday and saw it grow
ugly and wither, shamed by its failure to compare.
The floor of my heart is covered with the leaves
that have fallen in their prime for no other reason
than the chance to brush against your face as you
walk through the realm you now inhabit freely.
Out of desert sands, Eden has been reborn full
of life and colour, all yours to name and use as you
please - most beloved of creation under heaven.
Even the threads of the sun, which one would be
foolish to say could be dimmed by anything else,
never look so lovely as when they fall on you and, like
through a crystal, are weaved into a tapestry of rainbow.
Bands of light twirl and spin, bringing into awareness
corners of reality the normal spectrum can not illuminate,
whispering of possibilities that escaped my imagination.
No matter our paths, or how the years shape us,
your realm is secure, where roses don't dare to grow.