Red roses were her favorites, her name was also Rose.
And every year her husband sent them, tied with pretty bows.
The year he died, the roses were delivered to her door.
The card said, "Be my Valentine," like all the years before.
 
Each year he sent her roses, and the note would always say,
"I love you even more this year, than last year on this day."
"My love for you will always grow, with every passing year."
She knew this was the last time that the roses would appear.
 
She thought, he ordered roses in advance before this day.
Her loving husband did not know, that he would pass away.
He always liked to do things early, way before the time.
Then, if he got too busy, everything would work out fine.
 
She trimmed the stems, and placed them in a very special vase.
Then, sat the vase beside the portrait of his smiling face.
She would sit for hours, in her husband's favorite chair.
While staring at his picture, and the roses sitting there.
 
A year went by, and it was hard to live without her mate.
With loneliness and solitude, that had become her fate.
Then, the very hour, as on Valentines before,
The doorbell rang, and there were roses, sitting by her door.
 
She brought the roses in, and then just looked at them in shock.
Then, went to get the telephone, to call the florist shop.
The owner answered, and she asked him, if he would explain,
Why would someone do this to her, causing her such pain?
 
"I know your husband passed away, more than a year ago,"
The owner said, "I knew you'd call, and you would want to know."
"The flowers you received today, were paid for in advance."
"Your husband always planned ahead, he left nothing to chance."
 
"There is a standing order, that I have on file down here,
And he has paid, well in advance, you'll get them every year.
There also is another thing, that I think you should know,
He wrote a special little card...he did this years ago."
 
"Then, should ever, I find out that he's no longer here,
That's the card...that should be sent, to you the following year."
She thanked him and hung up the phone, her tears now flowing hard.
Her fingers shaking, as she slowly reached to get the card.
 
Inside the card, she saw that he had written her a note.
Then, as she stared in total silence, this is what he wrote...
"Hello my love, I know it's been a year since I've been gone,
I hope it hasn't been too hard for you to overcome."
 
"I know it must be lonely, and the pain is very real.
For if it was the other way, I know how I would feel.
The love we shared made everything so beautiful in life.
I loved you more than words can say, you were the perfect wife."
 
"You were my friend and lover, you fulfilled my every need.
I know it's only been a year, but please try not to grieve.
I want you to be happy, even when you shed your tears.
That is why the roses will be sent to you for years."
 
"When you get these roses, think of all the happiness,
That we had together, and how both of us were blessed.
I have always loved you and I know I always will.
But, my love, you must go on, you have some living still."
 
"Please...try to find happiness, while living out your days.
I know it is not easy, but I hope you find some ways.
The roses will come every year, and they will only stop,
When your door's not answered, when the florist stops to knock."
 
"He will come five times that day, in case you have gone out.
But after his last visit, he will know without a doubt,
To take the roses to the place, where I've instructed him,
And place the roses where we are, together once again."

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you’re trudging seems all up hill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest, if you must – but don’t you quit.
 
Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don’t give up, though the pace seems slow-
You might succeed with another blow.
 
Often the goal is nearer than
It seems to a faint and faltering man,
Often the struggle has given up
When he might have captured the victor’s cup.
And he learned too late, when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the golden crown.
 
Success is failure turned inside out –
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt –
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems afar;
So stick to fight when you’re hardest hit –
It’s when things seems worst that you mustn’t quit

Make new friends, but keep the old;
Those are silver, these are gold.
New-made friendships, like new wine,
Age will mellow and refine.
 
Friendships that have stood the test –
Time and change – are surely best;
Brow may wrinkle, hair  grow gray,
Friendship never knows decay.
 
For ’mid old friends , tried and true,
Once more we our youth renew.
But old friends, alas! may die,
New friends must their place supply.
 
Cherish friendship in your breast-
New is good, but old is best;
Make new friends, but keep the old,
Those are silver, these are gold 

Joseph Parry

(A)ccepts you as you are
(B)elieves in "you"
(C)alls you just to say "Hi"
(D)oesn't give up on you
(E)nvisions the whole of you (even the unfinished parts)
(F)orgives your mistakes
(G)ives unconditionally
(H)elps you
(I)nvites you over
(J)ust "be" with you
(K)eeps you close at heart
(L)oves you for who you are
(M)akes a difference in your life
(N)ever judges
(O)ffers support
(P)raises you for the great things you do
(Q)uiets your fears
(R)aises your spirits
(S)ays nice things about you
(T)ells you the truth when you need to hear it
(U)nderstands you
(V)alues you
(W)alks beside you
(X)-plains things you don't understand
(Y)ells when you won't listen and
(Z)aps you back to reality
 
A friend is someone we turn to
When our spirits need a lift.
A friend is someone we treasure
For our friendship is a gift.
 
A friend is someone who fills our lives
With Beauty, Joy, and Grace
And makes the world we live in
a Better and Happier Place. 

Home’s not merely four square walls,
Though with pictures hung and gilded;
Home is where affection calls –
Filled with shrines the hearth had builded.
 
Home! Go watch the faithful dove,
Sailing ‘neath the heaven above us.
Home is where there’s one to love!
Home is where there’s one to love us.
 
Home’s not merely roof and room,
It needs something to endear it;
Home is where the heart can bloom
Where there’s some kind lip to cheer it!
 
What is home with none to meet,
None to welcome, none to greet us?
Home is sweet, and only sweet,
Where there’s one we love to meet us!
Charles swain

There are loyal hearts; there are spirits brave,
There are souls that are pure and true;
Then give to the world the best you have,
And the best will come back to you.
 
Give love, and love to your life will flow,
A Strength in your utmost need;
Have faith, and a score of hearts will show
Their faith in your word and deed.
 
Give truth, and your gift will be paid in kind,
And honor will honor meet;
And a smile that is sweet will surely find
A smile that is just as sweet.
 
Give sorrow and pity to those who mourn;
You will gather in flowers again’
The scattered seeds of your thought out borne,
Though the sowing seemed but vain.
 
For life is the mirror of king and slave-
‘Tis just what we are and do;
Then give to the world the best you have,
And the best will come back to you.
Mary Ainge De Vere

There’s a town called Don’t- you-worry,
On the banks of River smile;
Where the Cheer-Up and Be-Happy
Blossom sweetly all the while.
 
Where the Never-Grumble flower
Blooms beside the fragrant Try,
And the Ne’er-Give-Up and Patience
Point their faces to the sky.
 
In the valley of Contentment,
In the province of I-Will,
You will find this lovely city,
At the foot of No-Fret Hill.
 
There are thoroughfares delightful
In this very charming town,
And on every hand are shade trees
Named the very-Seldom-Frown.
 
Rustic benches quite enticing
You’ll find scattered here and there;
And to each a vine is clinging
Called the Frequent-Earnest-Prayer.
 
Everybody there is happy
And is singing all the while,
In the town of Don’t-You-Worry,
On the banks of River Smile.
J. Bartlett

Man’s life is laid in the loom of time
To a pattern he does not see,
While the weavers work and the shuttles fly
Till the dawn of eternity.
 
Some shuttles are filled with silver threads
And some with threads of gold,
While often but the darker hues
Are all that they may hold.
 
But the weaver watches with skillful eye
Each shuttle fly to and fro,
And see the pattern so deftly wrought
As the loom moves sure and slow.
 
God surely planned the pattern;
Each thread, the dark and fair,
Is chosen by His master skill
And placed in the web with care.
 
He only knows its beauty,
And guides the shuttles which hold
The threads so unattractive,
As well as the threads of gold.
 
Not till each loom is silent,
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God reveal the pattern
And explain the reason why
 
The dark threads were as needful
In the weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
For the pattern which He planned.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
 
If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master;
If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools:
 
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
 
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings -- nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man, my son! 

Rudyard Kipling

God made a wonderful mother,
A mother who never grows old;
He made her smile of the sunshine,
And He molded her heart of pure gold;
 
In her eyes He placed bright shining stars,
In her cheeks, fair roses you see;
God made a wonderful mother,
And He gave that dear mother to me

Pat O’Reilly