A Gift Of Roses

I count the hours: you count the days. Together, we count the minutes in this pa*sion play. Walk dusty miles. and I ride that train On a first cla*s ticket, just to be with you again. Picking up tired feet. back from a far horizon. Cleaned up and brushed down. dressed to look the part. Fresh from god's garden, I bring a gift of roses: To stand in sweet spring water and press them to your heart. Like the kipling cat, I walk alone - Never inviting trouble, never casting the stone. But this badge of honour is of tarnished tin. Lightyour guiding beacon to bring this fisher in.