There’s a place that I knew, long, long ago,
Where scarlet red roses were meant to grow.
The petals dancing, the buds held so high,
With a sense of passion that covered the sky.
This place is a garden, lively and dear,
And thorns that trickle and tickle out fear.
The sun shines, the day is lit, no heart is held fast,
The scarlet red roses are not meant to last.
The winter comes with a breath of cold chill,
With roses wilting so fragile and still.
A new world is made, a land full of frost,
The blooming red blossoms have now all been lost.
Yet, however, I hold open a flower, strong and upbeat,
Who has lived through this storm, who has conquered this feat.
With warm hands, the rose is held high,
With watery tears that make the rose cry.
The flower is here, the flower will pardon,
The dream I once had, of the scarlet rose garden.