MY ROSE

I once picked a rose and the sun shook my hand,

Crystal clear dew saluted from petallic stand,

Insects sang a harmonious tune: Farewell to the Setting Moon,

While birds lullabied, I . . . cried.

Tears of joy, I cried, of joy and sorrow,

Of past and present, of day and morrow.

Rare is the beauty which rouses them both.

The line which divides our deepest emotions need not be large,

Nay, but as the sand separates earth from oceans,

Rare is the beauty which rouses them both.

When I kiss my rose, I understand,

Why teardrops fall, what God has planned.

Together our minds are a harmonious tune,

And every moment, a honeymoon.

And listen, as I may, to love’s lullaby,

Of joy and sorrow, past and present, day and morrow,

I . . . cry.

Rare is the beauty which rouses them both.

Rare is your beauty, Tammy, my rose.

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Written for Tammy Doll by her husband, Brad