WHITE ROSES
Our mother died,
Lost now to the wind;
In just eight months,
She pulled our father in.
She found her peace,
And broke again his heart;
Now they lie cold,
Just steel and earth apart.
Life passes strange,
Just so, they say, it goes;
And stranger still,
To wear this sad white rose.
Look deep and close
Inside the blossom fair,
And you will find
The marks of passion there;
Like drops of blood,
The last to leave the bloom,
Whose beauty fades,
And passes far too soon.
This day we smile,
The fragrance to recall,
Smiling as tears,
Like white rose petals fall.
white roses
العرض العادي
