The Rose

My Grandma Cochran passed away this afternoon. She was 91 years young--lived a long, spunky, and full life. She may be best remembered for her feistiness and her love of roses (those two may not seem to go together, but consider the fact that she arduously tended over 100 rose bushes at one time around her home). This is the last picture we took together - at Christmas time less than one month before Shelby was born.

"Roses" by George Eliot
You love the roses - so do I./I wishThe sky would rain down roses, as they rain/From off the shaken bush. Why will it not?/Then all the valley would be pink and white/And soft to tread on. They would fall as light/As feathers, smelling sweet; and it would be/Like sleeping and like waking, all at once!