|
THE TIME OF THE ROSE
This is the time of the rose,
All pink and white and wild,
Singing in the hedgerows.
The tea rose nods
To the cool, crinolined cabbage rose,
To the rambler, the damask and the old garden rose,
All more and more lovely as they grow.
We know that if we sat here
From now until Sunday,
We could not create a scintilla of their beauty.
The old tale tells it.
Every flower is a prayer,
Every prayer, a flower.
The rose, falling from the finger tips of God,
Is a prayer of thankfulness and joy,
For, all petalled about with God’s glory,
It sings of God’s unending love.
|
