The Rose

In a dry, ugly place
Where it seemed all was dead,
A tiny white rose
Softly lifted its head.
With a beauty more real
And a message more true
Because of the barren
Place where it grew.

Lord, help me to see
In the heartaches I know
The beautiful things
You have placed there to grow.
Help me to see,
‘Ere each weary day close,
The darker the spot
The sweeter the rose.

Linda Lane, Age 17