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Shade Tree Memories
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ISBN10: 142692593X
ISBN13: 9781426925931
Publisher: Authorhouse
Published: Feb 16 2010
Pages: 52
Weight: 0.14
Height: 0.12 Width: 5.00 Depth: 8.00
Language: English
ISBN13: 9781426925931
Publisher: Authorhouse
Published: Feb 16 2010
Pages: 52
Weight: 0.14
Height: 0.12 Width: 5.00 Depth: 8.00
Language: English
For the Love of Things
Little bee on the rosebush
May you smell the sweet scent of the flower.
Never forget this flower in which it will come back
When you leave the field in which you fly around
You go around trying to find that one you found that day
But all you see is gray
Little bee on the rosebush
May you smell the sweet scent of the flower.
Never forget this flower in which it will come back
When you leave the field in which you fly around
You go around trying to find that one you found that day
But all you see is gray
It's never coming back to you
It lost its scent at summer's end
Now its winter and you try to stay alive
That rosebud is all you think about
Just hope for the sun
And maybe you will smell that scent once again
Not in a dream or a fairy tale
Just for the scent you would die a thousand times over
You wait in the cold where you found it
But the sun never comes
Summer's dew runs through the field of dreams
The winter's cold is gone
Flowers bloom
And those roses come back to life
But the bee has died waiting for the flower
The poor being lies beside the rosebush, its dying wish
For that sweet scent
Now rose-red buds lie on its grave
That is love for beauty
And not for entertainment of others
It lost its scent at summer's end
Now its winter and you try to stay alive
That rosebud is all you think about
Just hope for the sun
And maybe you will smell that scent once again
Not in a dream or a fairy tale
Just for the scent you would die a thousand times over
You wait in the cold where you found it
But the sun never comes
Summer's dew runs through the field of dreams
The winter's cold is gone
Flowers bloom
And those roses come back to life
But the bee has died waiting for the flower
The poor being lies beside the rosebush, its dying wish
For that sweet scent
Now rose-red buds lie on its grave
That is love for beauty
And not for entertainment of others
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