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HENRY CUESTA December 23, 1931 - December 17, 2003 |
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The Rose Beyond the Wall
Near
shady wall a rose once grew,
Budded
and blossomed in God's free light,
Watered
and fed by morning dew,
Shedding
its sweetness day and night.
As
it grew and blossomed fair and tall,
Slowly
rising to loftier height,
It
came to a crevice in the wall
Through
which there shone a beam of light.
Onward
it crept with added strength
with
never a thought of fear or pride,
It
followed the light through the crevice's length
And
unfolded itself on the other side.
The
light, the dew, the broadening view
Were
found the same as they were before,
And
it lost itself in beauties new,
Breathing
its fragrance more and more.
Shall
claim of death cause us to grieve
And
make our courage faint and fall?
Nay!
Let us faith and hope receive--
The
rose still grows beyond the wall,
Scattering
fragrance far and wide
Just
as it did in days of yore,
Just
as it did on the other side,
Just
as it will forevermore.
A. L. Frink
to read the obituary published in the Los Angeles Times on 12/22/03 |