A Pioneering Rose.

Once upon a time long ago, a rose tree Grew lustily in my Ma's bed, tended And fed, how it bloomed, and it's red, when seen Would colour her soul - - fragranced and blended With the Plain's western light, it shone. Her lover Planted the tree, wanting to show her his Pioneer heart, he chose this rose above Any sweet scented other, and, mission Accomplished he went to sea, but asked Ma To talk to that flower once he had gone. Shyly She told it how lonely she felt, and seeing The rose thriving she decided to try Helping her unborn to benefit too. So daily she severed one fragile petal And crushed it over the place where viewing Was hidden by delicate skin, settled With ritual, I safely arrived. Rose I was named. When war took my Pa ere long Both baby and rosebush fell sick. Panic close, Ma plucked the last petal and held it among Tiny fingers until they lost sickly hue And blue became pink. Rose rallied soon And that petal remained ever fresh too. More than that, overnight the rose tree bloomed And never was time when flower was gone From that rose bush, and the legend lived on. The tale of the Pioneer Rose just grew Most homesteaders now believe it was true