Silent Whisperings . . . .
The girl had a rose.
It came from a lover.
He lived down the lane.
But, when He came to town,
He stopped to buy a rose.
One rose for one girl, the lover had with him.
And there in His hand, He came with one rose
again.
The rose had a thorn.
But it was not sharp.
The edge was blunt.
It did no harm.
No blood was shed.
All He had was the rose with a thorn.
All she had was the rose when He was gone.
And, when He left, was when the One thorn
pricked her breast.
Copyright (c) 2010. By Rev. Lainie Dowell.
The Mountainside Ministries. All rights reserved worldwide.
Received Sunday, January 2, 2010, 5:53 a.m.
