In My Little Garden

In the backyard of my house there is a little garden, which nobody seems to care for. It is overgrown with bushes and weeds that conquer every corner of the garden. However, there is also a little plant of roses.

Every beginning of spring, I am afraid that this time the roses will not bloom. Alas me, my poor faith! For is the sun, with its warmth and caring light, that enfolds the lonely and abandoned plant. The sap of life starts flowing with joy through the stem; you can hear it, and here are the roses more beautiful than ever. Despite the invading company, the roses erect higher and higher over bushes and weeds.

When I am in the garden, I see no more bushes and weeds. I just stare at the roses, captured by their beauty and scent. When Our Sweet Lady appeared to the little Bernadette, She had a yellow rose on each of her feet. Who knows why yellow? I want to think of yellow as the color of the sun, which is life and light that always breaks through darkness.

In my little garden there are not yellow roses, but only pink roses. Who knows why pink? I want to think of pink as the color of hope; the hope that one day we can see the yellow roses.

In the garden of the world there are many roses, and I whisper:
"You, my friend, are one of them".

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