I hold a joy that’s true, and one that’s gone away, one blooms like morning dew, the other hides in gray. What once was taken from me never left me alone, a rose still softly blossoms in the heart I call home. I hold a joy that’s near, and one that’s far behind, one sings with light and cheer, the other weeps in kind. I’m rich in crimson tones, and in silent sorrow, with melancholy grace that dawns on each tomorrow. Oh, how loving the rose! Oh, how loved is the thorn! Like twin reflections dancing in a soul gently torn. I hold a joy that stays, and one that’s slipped away, like echoes from a dream that sings at break of day…
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