her bloom and luster gone;
Her petals turned toward the ground,
She hides her face at dawn.
Remembering the broken rose,
Before her petals were torn;
Her pinkish hue, her open flower,
And yet lonely and forlorn.
How can she find, this broken rose,
the love which she must yearn for,
If we won't stoop to feel her pain,
or if we thoughtlessly ignore her?
I love the dear yet broken rose,
and miss her lovely smile,
Her gentle petals are drooping;
My heart breaks to watch them fall.
The King looks at his broken rose,
and drops his precious tears.
Like rain, his grace must on her fall,
to take away her fears.
The Son shines on this broken rose,
His light will surely soften
Her broken heart which she seeks
so hard to turn and harden.
Hoping for the broken rose,
that Love will finally find her,
and bring her to her fellow flowers,
tenderly and gently bind her.