He gave me a girdle of roses;
But I found that the wind and the rain
Had planted a thorn mid the blossoms of love
Soon they sprouted and bore fruit again.
Till thorns in my girdle of roses
Outnumbered the blooms two to one;
I found the buds drooping, each pierced by a spike.
They were withered ere life had begun.
As each full blown bloom lost its petals,
And as mutely I watched them decay,
I found but the spark of a wonderful love
That was born on that wonderful day.
For a frown, and a shrug, and a harsh word had been born
From a girdle of roses, the sting of a thorn.
– Circa 1932