WHEN THE ROSES CRY

Roses were by far,
her very favorite flower,
She would linger with the roses,
in her garden for hours.
Such a joyful soul,
each day she would sing,
Looking forward to what joy,
each new day would bring.
Daily she placed vases in every room,
Until each room was scented
with their sweet perfume.
There was something special about her,
that was truly rare,
Her eyes were filled with love,
tenderness and care.
There was a loving honesty
in her gentle way,
The memory of her will linger
on day after day.
Someone came into her garden
and tore it all apart,
Crushed her gentle spirit
and broke her loving heart.
Now she no longer tends her garden, no roses does she bring,
No more sweet perfume,
no joyful songs does she sing.
Closed now for eternity
are her gentle loving eyes,
The only sound left in her garden
is when the roses cry.

C.T Turner ©2005