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I reached out with awe and touched a rose
The petals soft and shining in repose
Drenched in pearls of evening's gentle dew
It seemed alive with beauty, ever new.
I watched the petals scattered by a breeze
That swirled through evening's shadows shook the trees
The precious rose lay scattered at my feet
But left me with a sense of reverences sweet.
written by Cora L. Spry
© 1960 by Cora L. Spry
The tears of the Indian maiden, cried so quietly
As her brave prepared to die in war, for her no more to see
He gently touched her cheek and wiped away a tear
No words between them spoken as she handed him his spear
And as he rode away, she vowed to take no other
Not knowing when he left, she would later be a mother
The tears of the Indian maiden, cried so quietly
As her son grew day by day into the brave she knew he'd be
Brave, strong, and wise. Her son was now a man
With others against the enemy, she knew he'd take a stand
The tears of the Indian maiden, cried so quietly
As her son prepared to die in war, for her no more to see
He gently touched her cheek and wiped away a tear
No words between them spoken as she handed him his spear
After many sunsets and her hair had all turned gray
She grew even sadder with each passing day
Then, one day the sun shined brighter than she'd ever seen before
And upon her wrinkled face appeared the last smile she ever wore
The tears of the Indian maiden, cried so quietly
As with her brave and son she went, it seemed so easily
The others knelt and waited for the moment which drew near
Her happiness they finally saw as one wiped away a tear.
© 1992 Cynthia Johnson
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