The War of the Rose

Into the flower the color unfolds
Revealing the deepest pink hue
The left over rain drop sits atop
The velvet petal perched
Atop the old worn out rose bush
That my mother had loved 
With thorns so big and sharp
It could stab clear through
A  favorite basket ball or two
In a child hood fury
UNleashed at said rose
I once chopped it in half
Leaving a  trail of old craggy stems
From one end of the yard through
When my poor mother saw her rose
With the basketball it killed nearby
She sat and mended it as best she could
Taking such time to replant and  
I can still hear her softly say
"Well, well  I see there was a battle son,
between your ball and my rose"
I gazed up at her waiting  for her fury
Wanting to crawl under any shelter
But she just pulled me to her and 
hugged me tight. and handed me
one of her best cookies 
Her hands so lovely I recall
She just poured a glass of milk 
and her face had a smile.