Children are like roses

Beauty among the thorn,

We take the bitter with the sweet

From the day they are born.


We nourish and tend them

With much loving care,

And insure their growth

With patience love and prayer.


Like roses in variety,

Some grow well and some wild

In this garden of life,

What mystery is in this child?


We struggle to understand their needs,

For them we only want the best

But these roses we so lovingly tend,

Put us through many a test.


We can only hope and pray,

As they mature before our eyes,

That love like the sun and rain

Will be enough, for with out it

Even a rose will die.

Dorothy I. McCarty