The Thorns and the Rose
We sprawled along the fence that day,
two Roman soldiers passed our way.
They came not today to smell the Rose,
twas we, the thorns, the Soldier's chose.
The beautiful rose most all came to see,
never speaking of or seeming to notice we.
But this overcast day we heard the word thorn,
then King Of The Jews whose head we'd adorn.
To protect the Rose had been our only role,
but today a Crown on a crude shaped pole.
Being forever remembered, and cruelly said,
that at death we adorned the Savior's head.
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