One dewy morn in early Fall,
Whilst walking past a hedgerow,
I chanced to see a fresh-bloomed rose,
Inside it was a rainbow!
The sun was shining bright,
Until a cloud there came upon,
I gazed upon the rose once more,
The sun no longer shone.
Those pretty coloured drops of dew,
No more my rose had kept,
As though in tears the dark clouds burst,
Bucketsful they wept.
They watered all my darkness,
Till they washed it all away,
And through the lightening drizzle,
Then I saw a hopeful ray.
I followed where it came from,
With an ever watchful eye,
Up to a cobalt patch of blue,
Expanding in the sky.
A shining band of light there stretched,
Of lovely colours seven,
My rose had only borrowed,
For they had returned to heaven!