NOTE: Word-of-mouth is the only advertising I have ever done and I thank those who have spread the word. I do not spend money advertising. I do not ask for donations. My poems are free so that even the poorest of the poor can be comforted with my poetry. I am pleased when others are blessed. No amount of money can surpass that. I am now blessed with over 10,000 page views per month and my prayer is that through my poetry, that this world can become a safer, more loving and respectful place - that those who do not know who Jesus really was (and still is), will come to know the peace, healing, sacrifice and grace He has given to those who truly believe in Him and faithfully follow. I pray that you enjoy my story poems...

November 18, 2008

That Trampled Rose 11-18-08


I so remember long ago
a Fair had came to town.
People talked for many weeks
and came from miles around.

Now there were several contests.
Two roses were compared.
It seemed like only yesterday
the way the people stared....

A mass of people circled.
Around the roses, stood.
But sitting in my wheelchair,
I couldn't see too good.

One received the highest prize,
the other one was tossed -
as people cheered the winner and,
ignored the one that lost.

Now for the rose that lost its case,
the judge just cast aside.
It then was trampled under feet.
Its owner nearly cried.

The winning rose was held up high
for all the world to see.
The people crammed around it close,
and oh, they did agree.

For better look, the crowd in back
stood high on their tiptoes.
They shifted 'round for greater view,
and trampled on that rose.

Then finally, a little boy
'bout three for four years old,
picked that trampled flower up
and gave to me to hold.

It's stem was crushed quite thoroughly.
It wasn't very long -
now hardly recognizable
with most it's petals gone.

I wanted nothing of it -
to see the other rose!
But I sat in my wheelchair.
That's how this story goes.

The boy stood right beside me.
He thought he'd done me good.
He never said a single word -
he just misunderstood.

There on my lap it laid until
I got back to my room.
I tossed it in the trash can as -
it would not ever bloom.

But then a few days later,
the County Fair had passed;
when all excitement dwindled,
when people left at last...

I unburied that dead rose,
and pressed it in a book.
Now when I'm most discouraged,
I take another look.

Pressed deep within the pages
of Psalms One-hundred-three;
I often think of that small boy -
the love he showed to me.

The winning rose has long since passed
and gone, its worldly shine.
Though others long for other things,
that trampled rose is mine.

©2008 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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Psalm 103 (NASB)
Praise for the LORD'S Mercies.
A Psalm of David.
1"Bless the LORD, O my soul,
And all that is within me, bless His holy name."

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