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The Rose

How beautiful is the rose in the morning dew,
Glistening in the rays of the early sun.
Those not enthralled would be but few;
Perhaps there would not be anyone.

And, in the noontide's warmer clime,
It's radiant beauty is there, still.
No flower on earth is more sublime,
As the sun sinks 'neath the western hill.

Tables and mantels, their bouquets adorn,
And add to any elegant decor.
Their beauty makes one forget their thorn;
Their fragrance is such that I adore.

A bud or a bloom can truly brighten
The darkest or the dullest room,
Can awaken the mind, and enlighten,
And bring one out of the gloom.

From a bud, as it sends forth a petal,
To the blossom, fragrant and full,
Till, to the earth they flutter and settle,
On the thoughts of my mind they tug and pull.

What can I say to add to this beauty?
Not one little word, this I know,
For God created them and gave them a duty
The shed their beauty on man here below.

 By L. B. Strawn
December 6, 1978