For my father, Jim Roos (1930-2021)

Like a Rose

He was a born peasant boy,
Conceived inside a barn, it’s said.
Ragged magi brought some gifts,
A rock, an iron rod, and a smile.

But what he did with what he had!
Although his heart was closed at first
To certain things, no need to list,
It opened like a rose bud at the last.

To him, no man was an enemy.
Color blindness is a virtue.
And if at first he couldn’t see,
He kept on looking till he could.

He taught us how to give ourselves,
Expecting nothing in return.
If only he’d allowed us this:
To give him back what he gave us.

7 August 2021

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