"French Lace" (Image Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
The Rose That Never Fades
A rose in full bloom—the softest petals, the deepest gold—captured in a crystal vase. It’s a moment of perfection, but one that cannot last. As Douglas Malloch writes, “Its beauty fades, its glory goes, / I know no way to keep a rose.” And yet, he reminds us, there is a rose that blooms beyond the reach of time. It is the rose of love.
Not just romantic love, though that too is beautiful when nurtured. This rose lives in every act of care, every gentle word, every look that says, I see you. It’s the love between family members who weather storms together. It’s in friendships that pick up where they left off, even after time apart. It’s in the wag of a tail, the purr on a lap, the loyal gaze of a pet who needs nothing but your presence.
And it’s in the broader, deeper form of love--woke love, if you will. The kind that sees injustice and speaks. The kind that listens to the pain of others, not to fix it, but to say, You are not alone. This is empathetic love—an openhearted presence in a fractured world. The kind of love that doesn’t pretend all is perfect, but believes that healing begins in how we treat one another.
This love, like the rose in Malloch’s poem, needs tending. It grows in homes where morning smiles and goodnight kisses are the norm. But it also flourishes in small, consistent acts: the shared meal, the text that checks in, the space held for another’s grief. It lives in divided labors and shared burdens. It lives in kindness.
Love cannot bloom where harshness lives. As Malloch so plainly puts it, “The rose of love will bow its head / In rooms where angry words are said.” And in a world often quick to rage, to isolate, to divide, this is the reminder we need. The rose will brave winter skies, but it cannot survive cold hearts.
If we truly possess the rose of love—if we are blessed to hold it in our lives—it becomes our sacred duty to care for it. With tenderness. With presence. With empathy. And when we do, we change the very atmosphere around us.
Because love, in its truest form, is not static. It’s generative. It ripples. The love we give has a way of finding its way back—not always directly, but through echoes in the lives we touch. A kind word to a stranger. A listening ear. A warm meal. A hand reached out, even when we are tired. These are the ways we water the rose of love.
And when we focus on these kinds of love—family love, friendship love, the bond with a beloved pet, and love born of awareness and action—we change our world. Not with grand gestures, but in the gentle way we hold one another up. One rose, tenderly kept, becomes a garden.
So let us keep the vase of home—whatever “home” means to us—crystal clear. Let us look with caring eyes, speak with warm voices, live with open hands. Let us remember the rose we hold, and tend it daily.
For there is one rose, the rose of love,
We need not know the fading of.
A rose that’s watered day by day,
We never need to throw away.
~Wylddane
(Text and Image Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
A rose in full bloom—the softest petals, the deepest gold—captured in a crystal vase. It’s a moment of perfection, but one that cannot last. As Douglas Malloch writes, “Its beauty fades, its glory goes, / I know no way to keep a rose.” And yet, he reminds us, there is a rose that blooms beyond the reach of time. It is the rose of love.
Not just romantic love, though that too is beautiful when nurtured. This rose lives in every act of care, every gentle word, every look that says, I see you. It’s the love between family members who weather storms together. It’s in friendships that pick up where they left off, even after time apart. It’s in the wag of a tail, the purr on a lap, the loyal gaze of a pet who needs nothing but your presence.
And it’s in the broader, deeper form of love--woke love, if you will. The kind that sees injustice and speaks. The kind that listens to the pain of others, not to fix it, but to say, You are not alone. This is empathetic love—an openhearted presence in a fractured world. The kind of love that doesn’t pretend all is perfect, but believes that healing begins in how we treat one another.
This love, like the rose in Malloch’s poem, needs tending. It grows in homes where morning smiles and goodnight kisses are the norm. But it also flourishes in small, consistent acts: the shared meal, the text that checks in, the space held for another’s grief. It lives in divided labors and shared burdens. It lives in kindness.
Love cannot bloom where harshness lives. As Malloch so plainly puts it, “The rose of love will bow its head / In rooms where angry words are said.” And in a world often quick to rage, to isolate, to divide, this is the reminder we need. The rose will brave winter skies, but it cannot survive cold hearts.
If we truly possess the rose of love—if we are blessed to hold it in our lives—it becomes our sacred duty to care for it. With tenderness. With presence. With empathy. And when we do, we change the very atmosphere around us.
Because love, in its truest form, is not static. It’s generative. It ripples. The love we give has a way of finding its way back—not always directly, but through echoes in the lives we touch. A kind word to a stranger. A listening ear. A warm meal. A hand reached out, even when we are tired. These are the ways we water the rose of love.
And when we focus on these kinds of love—family love, friendship love, the bond with a beloved pet, and love born of awareness and action—we change our world. Not with grand gestures, but in the gentle way we hold one another up. One rose, tenderly kept, becomes a garden.
So let us keep the vase of home—whatever “home” means to us—crystal clear. Let us look with caring eyes, speak with warm voices, live with open hands. Let us remember the rose we hold, and tend it daily.
For there is one rose, the rose of love,
We need not know the fading of.
A rose that’s watered day by day,
We never need to throw away.
~Wylddane
(Text and Image Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
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