A small red rosebush on the hill,
not very big nor much to see,
but it does lots of blossoms grow,
and he takes pictures of them all the time.

The roses are small, petals sparse,
but photography does make them large.
But people around the world
think that little rose bush is a thing of beauty.

Some people do laugh at its roses,
say it does not have many petals,
but most do smile and remember
That little rose bush spreads lots of good will.

Red rose, oh red rose so pretty,
How do you make ladies swoon so easily,
Is it your looks or smell,
Or does your attar a libation have?

Rose bushes large and small,
Rose bushes most everywhere,
But what is so beautiful
As a red rose bud in a lady’s hand?

She may be cold, she may be harsh,
But give her a big red rose
And she will wilt and smile,
Maybe even allow you a kiss.

Thoughts of love do with roses connect,
As you spark and woo,
Giving it your best,
But a red rose is the catalyst.

My small rose bushes,
Are not large enough to be considered a bush,
But oh me, oh my, they really do
Make ladies smile and pacify.

I loved the lady, I really did,
but she sort of looked down on me,
She a fine lady in a big house,
me just a working stiff, a big louse.

She would smile and speak to me,
then inside she would go, quick as a flea.
But then on her step I did leave,
A red, long-stem rose bud.

The next time I happened by,
I did leave another red rose.
And so I did leave six of them,
never stopping or even speaking.

Well to make a long story short,
I married that lady, oh yes indeed,
And we lived as one for 34 years,
Lived like a fairy tale.

Now she has gone, passed over,
and I sit here in my red rose garden.
I think of her, oh how she is missed,
I want to join her in that large rose garden.

But time will us unite, as now my roses
to the old folks home do go.
I take them in and pass them out,
With a smile and a remembrance.


© Tom (TOMWYO@aol.com)


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I Rode A Wild Horse Once

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