Sitting here listening to songs of the old
The 60s Folk Radio is just solid gold
My brain churns with memory, the memory so fresh
My heart soon joins the intertwined mesh

Funny the feelings I get from a song
The feelings are strong, I must sing along
Melancholy overcomes me as I think back in time
The things that have changed are not the sublime

Sublime is beauty and runs very deep
The things of this country, I want to keep
The pain of change can really be sad
Take time to remember, it may not be bad

When a rose is a bud, it looks stoic and small
The petals soon open, attractive and tall
The bud is a blossom, for the better I see
It would only be better as part of a tree

Remember the rose will rise again
The bush may be hidden inside of a glen
For when it does, the beauty so deep
The stunning vision will keep me from sleep

The Antelope watches from his perch on the plain
He has no limits as he roams his terrain
His freedom not calculated for he’s free to roam
After all and to all, this is his home

No one tells him what he should drink
How he should talk or what to think
He is free, as free as they come
For the rest of us, well, it is probably done

So, watch for the rose as it blooms for real
See the beauty of the rose with all its appeal
The sunrise approaches, I hope it is red
The sunset will happen, no matter what’s said