A Gift of Roses

I count the hours... you count the days.

Together, we count the minutes in this Passion Play.

Walk dusty miles. And I ride that train

on a first class 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.

Light your guiding beacon to bring this fisher in.