On Sunday Poem by Ima Ryma

I sit alone with sadness of
The news of distant tragedy
Causing the loss of my dear love
Who'll never return home to me.
Then suddenly I hear a sound
And see a songbird landing near,
Sets a white rose upon the ground,
As though knowing that I am here,
And that each and ev'ry Sunday
A white rose my dear love would bring
And give to me in heartfelt way.
To me, my dear love then would sing.

The songbird sings as I do take
The white rose for this Sunday's sake.