By Dick Taylor – Melfort, Sask.
A young girl was wandering
In a valley one day
In search of wild flowers
For a special bouquet.
Her mother was ailing
And fading away
No flower is too special
For a mother’s bouquet.
As she entered the room
Where the fairest did lay
Her mother was speechless
As she spied the bouquet.
Hold my hand, sweet daughter
Was all she could say
As the Great Gardener plucked her
For his gorgeous bouquet.
Why God takes the fairest
In the prime of their day
‘Tis only the choice ones
Make a perfect bouquet.
The beauty of a flower
Is a gift from above
The splendor of a bouquet
Is the symbol of love.
There’ll be no petals missing
Second choice will not do
The flowers must be perfect
So is my love to you.
