My Roses

My roses...so beautiful,
Have all gone dead.
My yellow rose, my crimson rose,
My one...in velvet red.

To cheer me up...they did,
When I was sick.
Inside each gorgeous bloom,
There was a special trick.

They touched my eyes,
And healed that inward part.
Secreting drops of pure white-love,
That wrapped around my heart.

The feel of pain,
Wore-out and went away.
And every thing was beautiful,
Upon that coming day.

Their secret power was shown,
No part of them was hid.
They cheered me up to beauty,
Then gently closed the lid.

E.P. 1908 - 1989