She looks out the window
From her old rocking chair
With wrinkles on her face
And gray in her hair
She talks about her roses
And, as she smiles, she'll say
"Those roses are pefect,
God made them that way"
"They're more than just flowers,
They're a symbol of love;
"A gift from on High
From the Father above"
"The thorns will remind us,
Of the pain that He bore;
"And its petals, the beauty
Of Heavens sweet shore"
"My time is near over,
I'll be leaving here soon;
"And I want you to bury me,
Where the roses bloom"
My grandmother showered us
In the love that she gave
And there's three dozen roses
That cover her grave
Apr 30, 2010
Apr 30, 2010 at 7:43 AM UTC
She looks out the window
From her old rocking chair
With wrinkles on her face
And gray in her hair
She talks about her roses
And, as she smiles, she'll say
"Those roses are pefect,
God made them that way"
"They're more than just flowers,
They're a symbol of love;
"A gift from on High
From the Father above"
"The thorns will remind us,
Of the pain that He bore;
"And its petals, the beauty
Of Heavens sweet shore"
"My time is near over,
I'll be leaving here soon;
"And I want you to bury me,
Where the roses bloom"
My grandmother showered us
In the love that she gave
And there's three dozen roses
That cover her grave