A single rose
lay upon her breast
held only
by her delicate fingers
that had just days before
curled her sweet girl's hair.
The wedding was such
a lovely sight,
her daughter dressed in white,
Grandmama's pearls
at her throat
as if they'd been laid there
by an angel's hand.
She had so painstakingly
brushed every strand,
twirled every curl,
kissed each tress
as she coiffed
her baby girl's hair
and pinned on the veil
so perfectly.
Standing back,
she looked at her child
who had become a woman
overnight,
tears stung her eyes,
but not yet,
she could not allow it
until the ceremony
had begun.
Her body wracked with pain,
she arose
as the young woman
came ever closer,
and stopped to kiss her mother
before taking the hand
of the man
to whom she would now pledge her life.
"Hold on," she pleaded
with herself,
knowing she would soon
take her last breath,
but she refused to go
until her darling girl
was wed.
In the night
she was called home
by her Father,
on angel wings she arose
into the Heavens
where the precious hearts go,
for she had always been
a most precious one.
Angels sing her name
and tears mourn her passing,
but Heaven shines
much brighter
as her earthly hand
holds a single rose.
Adding your comment:
Thanks, Margaret. 
I have to say it made me cry to write it. I guess I've been thinking much about my own daughter lately. Hugs, Patricia
