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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
![Joy Sweeps [#1514072]
Kiya's gift. I love it!](http://www.InkSpot.Com/main/trans.gif)
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Daily Cascade #1102759 added December 1, 2025 at 1:48pm Restrictions: None
Treasured: Memories, Roses
Prompt:
“God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.”
James M. Barrie
Happy December! What does "roses in December" bring to your mind?
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This quote makes me think of my memories. Aren't memories the gardeners of souls? And if so, they'd give us roses of all colors, wouldn't they!
Memory itself tucks beauty into the pockets of our days. How about that last sentence? It came out somewhat lyrical, all by itself. Let me see, if I can continue with that lyrical idea.
So, this quote reminds me that beauty doesn’t disappear; it transforms. It becomes something I can return to, something to keep me alive in my quieter days. When the world becomes bare, memory lights its small candles to give me moments of warmth, laughter, and tenderness. Those moments bloom in spite of the harshness, sadness, or grief.
Like roses.
Roses in December are not the flowers I hold in my hands, but blossoms I carry in my heart. They are the echoes of my loved ones' voices, the warmth of long-ago evenings with my whole family together, the sweetness of our successes, wins, or victories. Above all, memories touch me with their kindness, leaving their soft petals about me. So, I gather these petals from my past and cradle and cherish them.
After all, memory is God's way of reminding me of Joy-the person and the real joy that never left me. For it waits, like a rose beneath winter snow, ready to open when I need it the most.
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© Copyright 2025 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved. Joy has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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