When God was making rosesI think that he foreknewAll the times that I would need themCause my heart was feeling blue. When God was making rosesI am sure He took delightIn knowing I would smell their scentTo get me through some plight.When God was making rosesI think He laughed with gleeTo know for celebrationsThey'd be perfect,... Continue Reading →

Roses in November are the sweetest.Their colors are much softer in that light.Their petals often ruffled, sometimes damaged,Hold a promise as the winter comes in sight.The rose hips, like bright berries, Glossy, gleaming, To protect the promise made, close up tight. Flowers will bud and bloom beautiful again some dayAfter winter's slept the cold and lonely night.

Blue sky reflectedIn warbled window glass;Leaves begin to turn Brown and orangeAgainst the old stone wallCold and bright day.