On a beautiful June day
in the bright early morn
a young mother looked down
at her tiny new born
saying, "My sweet little Rose Bud
with nary a thorn."
And as the day lengthened
our Rose in full bloom
filled all her surroundings
with her delicate perfume
as she walked down the aisle
with her chosen groom.
Her petals turned cere
at the close of the day,
had our beautiful Rose
begun to decay?
No, God turned our Rose
into a lovely sachet.
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