Gregory Douglas Turner, my only son
August 8, 1969-Dec. 3, 1992
Yesterday I painted roses
sobbing softly in memory.
Knowing how you once drew roses--
each petal, thorn, was drawn for me.
Joyfully, we smelled those roses
‘til the years withered them one and all.
Still it seems just like yesterday
you were toddling down the hall.
Wish I still could see your roses,
perhaps could pluck them here and there.
Son, in case you haven’t noticed
inside my heart . . . you’re always near.
Yesterday I painted roses
like those yellow ones drawn with care.
Tomorrow we’ll both draw roses . . .
when I'm called to come o’er there
where the roses always bloom for'er.
I don't know what to say--this is so deeply moving.
Such a loss...and, yet, the promise of a wonderful reunion...
"Yesterday I painted roses
like those yellow ones drawn with care.
Tomorrow we’ll both draw roses . . .
when I'm called to come o’er there
where the roses always bloom for'er."
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Love Tinka
Such a loss...and, yet, the promise of a wonderful reunion...
"Yesterday I painted roses
like those yellow ones drawn with care.
Tomorrow we’ll both draw roses . . .
when I'm called to come o’er there
where the roses always bloom for'er."
Jack