The Roses - Emily Jane White

The oaks and the vines

And the branches entwined

Around my heart

And a melancholy winding

Led to my depart

And it was clear

That you were not here

For the roses

And you stood watch over a man-made lake

You ain’t no saint

Of the roses

And you wore

Paper-thin sleeves

In this mire of thorns

And with ill fate we lay beneath

Oh that white cross

Bearing this long loss

And with ill fate we lay beneath

Oh that white cross

Bearing this loss

And I shall, continue to make, bouquets of roses from this fate

And so I shall continue to make

Bouquets of roses

From this fate