Music: "The Rose"


When I think of all tomorrows
might that trembling out of fear
be transformed to sunken sorrows
won't you hold my head up, dear...
'cause I'm weary, even drowning
from all these new demands
Don't you dare now to be frowning
'cause I'm losing my commands...

In these foggy, dreary woodlands
I'm losing all my wits
In these doggy, teary would-lands
they're tearing me to bits
Let me dwell in pastime glory
while searching high and low
in recalling ancient story
of a love, too good to know...

As I walk in gloomy pastures
and pondering my life
I remember certain Masters
and all that lovely strife...
Raise me now to better timing
a cane for pretty needs
then I once more will be rhyming
captivating witty seeds...