Grief And The Garden

When a rose I planted
for a dead friend
refused to grow,
what choice was there
but to pull it out and
begin again?

When a second rose
also failed to thrive
and in fact died,
what choice was there 
but to pull it out and
begin again?

Now a third rose
will not take.  
Friend,
what are you trying
to tell me?

Perhaps
there’s nothing
after this life
and such memorials
are pointless.

Perhaps
in this life
you didn’t love roses
and I didn’t know you
as well as I should have.

Perhaps
I am a bad gardener
and kill what I put effort into
because enthusiasm is no 
substitute for skill.

Friend, I have a dying rosebush
with your name on it;
what am I supposed to do with it?

Friend, why don’t you speak to me?
You went back into this earth,
did you not?  Why will nothing grow now?