The Rose

by Amanda McBroom

Some say love, it is a river

That drowns the tender reed.

Some say love, it is a razor

That leaves your soul to bleed.

Some say love, it is a hunger,

An endless aching need.

I say love, it is a flower,

And you its only seed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance.

It's the dream afraid of waking

That never takes the chance.

It's the one who won't be taken,

Who cannot seem to give,

And the soul afraid of dying

That never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long,

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong,

Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snows

Lies the seed that with the sun's love

In the spring becomes the rose.

Brilliant! For me, this is poetry at its very best!

-o0o-

When I was very small we had a painting similar to the one shown here. It hung in a front room of our tenement house. The strange thing about it was that I could discern a face among the clouds and, when the Salvation Army Band played a few hymns in our street on dark Sunday nights, I would rush to look out the window hoping to see a face in the clouds. I never did, but I was quite sure that God was there, possibly checking up on me!

There were two churches almost next door to one another in our town and, as we passed, I always gave particular attention to the first one because, among the carved decoration, the face of God looked down on us from above the church door. I had no doubt who it was for he had a long curly beard and wore a cap like other old men.

That church is no longer there, and it's not so long ago that I learned that the man with the curly beard and the cap was the Reformer John Knox.

Another memory with a religious slant has been in my mind lately. My sister and I were quite young when we started to attend church on Sunday mornings. Our seats were upstairs on a side gallery but from that position children were too  small to see the minister, choir or anything going

on down below. There was organ music to listen to and that was followed by the sound of very soft voices singing -

The Lord is in his holy temple,
Let all the earth keep silence before him.

And I had absolutely no doubt - those were the voices of angels come down from heaven!

-o0o-

For much of my life I was involved with churches and sometime in the future I'll explain here how I came to reject christianity.

For many years we treasured a copy of The Chatterbox Annual. I imagine it would be dated around 1920. It came to us from our father's family home, where all the children would

be grown-up by then, with the possible exception of Walter who was the youngest.

The book contained many interesting things for children and my favourite items included famous paintings such as this one - 

And when did you last see your father?
painted in 1878

by
William Frederick Yeames 1835-1918
Nationality - British

The picture has always fascinated me. Notice how the light falls on the boy as he stands smartly to attention facing his questioner. Somehow the addition of the conjunction at the beginning of the question give the words a more innocent, casual sound. On the left, the boy's mother and sisters stand nervously wondering how he will respond, tell the truth as he has been taught to do, or save his father's life.

-o0o-