I’ve never tried to grow a rose,
but from those who do
I hear
a challenge awaits. 

The soil must be right,
the shears sharp
the sun bright
the trellis straight.
 
All these pieces put into place
in right order
and right space,
might yield
a bursting fragrant bloom,
petals soft to touch,
color to catch your eye
quick before it’s gone.

I’ve never tried to mother a child
but from women who do
I see
a challenge awaits.

The love must be right
the discipline sharp
the smile bright
the truth straight.
 
All these pieces put into place
in right order
and right space
might yield
a healthy happy life,
returned hugs to hold onto,
words to wash the worries away,
quick before they’re grown.

Growing roses
is like growing children.
You get back
what you give them.
 
Matt Steinhauer