by Sharmagne Leland-St. John

You called yourself "Rosebud"
and I thought it so sweet...

A rose by any other name
My father always sang
"Rosie my little posie
you are my heart's bouquet"
to make you laugh and smile

and I thought it so romantic.

Uncle Lake sang to you too.
"My wild Irish rose
the sweetest flower that grows."

You and Uncle Lake performed
in Abie's Irish Rose

And you were a smash!

When you weren't smashed.

One day your husband
stopped singing to you.
He left you for an older woman,
a woman twice his age.
He divorced you and took your children away.

It was just another way
for the heart to break.

Fifty-four years later,
I read letters he wrote to you
and wished he was still alive
so I could slap him!

You deserved better,
but always settled for less.


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