Our little Rose grew strong and resilient
~in the Oklahoma Red clay
In times of drought she took in less
~her roots held strong
Her petals danced to the strings
~of the fiddle
Her strong canes rhythmically moved
~over the piano keys
Like a butterfly born to fly
~music lifted her face to the sunshine
Her trunk once green and strong stands
~now brown and brokenHer vibrant red buds and blooms bend
~ downward toward the earth
Some years she barely survived,
~now she is weary
Watching her wilt day by day
~we struggle
Then a bud appears out of no hope
~a smile radiates across her face
There is Hope
This rose without a thorn
~is a rare beauty
