You came to me, and laid your love before. My choice to take or push away in scorn. You laid your love like flowers at my feet. My right hand touched a Rose; my left a thorn.


The rose felt soft and yielding to my touch. The thorn that pricked my finger brought me pain, And yet show me a Rose without a thorn And I'll show you a man without a stain.



And so I took the love you laid before And vowed with God as witness ne're to part. The Rose and Thorn you gave, I gave in turn. And with them dear I gave one treasured heart.



By Carol Bouche' Ottlinger 1951 copyright © 1953