The Rose
He felt depressed that day.
Nothing went his way and worse,
He then began to curse.
His speech became adverse to all.
Ashamed, he felt so small.
He backed against a wall and cried.
He wished that he had died.
But he looked up and spied a tot.
She held a bright green pot.
He saw what she had brought to him,
Just dirt that reached the rim.
With eyes filed to the brim with tears,
(She only was four years.)
She smiled and said, “Here’s some dirt.
And I know you must hurt.
But just a little squirt, here grows
A lovely yellow rose.
And the Lord Jesus knows Your pain
So His sweet care like rain
Will make you smile again in love.”
Then hope came like a dove.
He thanked the God above, and her.
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