We first heard of Him
During a time of persecution,
When all seemed dead or dying.
His name was first engraved
On Mary’s heart,
Before she understood
What God had asked of her.
The last rose of our garden
Surprised us this November.
Surprised us all,
Amid bare trees and
Decaying,
Discarded leaves.
Like Mary’s heart,
The rose unfurled each petal,
And reached for the dwindling autumn light
Until our expectations
Could no longer contain it.
(c) 2018 Judith C Evans
