In life we play roles, such as in a play;
Some bitter, some sweet, some bright, some gray.
And as we play roles that are assigned;
Hearts seem to wander, but no one seems to mind.
And then we look around and see that people care;
We stop for a moment, just to simply stare.
So sits in a small little kitchen scope;
A younger woman who finds things hard to cope.
Telling a story to three young girls;
With light blue dresses and silky brown curls.
The younger woman, lost by name;
Tells of a sad story, but none of much fame.
In a valley of branches, weeds and thorns;
A young girl sits and sadly mourns.
To have a love would make her glad;
And to be loved would keep her from being sad.
But most fantasies and fairy tales don't come true;
Someone only made them up, to keep from being blue.
But then no sooner than that does she notice a single rose;
It brightens her day as it blossoms and grows.
As soon as she touches this fragile piece of art;
It crumbles away and breaks her heart.
This rose is gone and it's the girl that bares the blame;
This I'm afraid was merely just a game.
But lovingly she picks up the pieces and plants them in her soul;
And she returns to her house atop the knoll.
Up to her house she goes and begins to turn the knob;
But then this trouble girl breaks out into a sob.
Now glance around young lady fair;
This rose has vanished for it never did care.
If ever she was alone it was at this time and place;
No one can help her to fill this empty space.
Crying made her feel secure;
No regrets and very sure.
But look around sweet tender soul;
No one is here with you in the vast dismal hole.
Eternally scarred, forever in pain;
This rose took her heart and left her in vain.
Where ever this rose has departed to;
I wish that I could find a way to bring it back to you.
Thy young lady fair, thy sweet tender soul;
Thy younger woman that lives upon the knoll.
Your dearly precious rose has fallen to the floor;
And your quite gentle heart has been broken once more.
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