A broken flower in the garden grows,
Its pedals red, the wind it blows,
The leaves all fallen the thorns be sharp,
Its beauty like an angels harp.
Its bent and broken the stem leans left,
Its health and beauty, was the theft,
Please save this dying flower love,
You have the power to thereof.
A little water, the rays of sun,
Its light will cure what the winds had done.
Their blow too strong In the flower bed.
Please little rose don’t fall dead.
I need your beauty, I need your glow,
Without you my hearts in somber sorrow.
Fight the wind as she gusts,
And grow back stronger as you must.
Finally the storm has idly died,
The flower broken in tempered time,
But she hung on with all her pride,
And grew back strong and young.
As on the harp the angel sung.
As the rose it lived instead of died.
Through mother natures howling cries.