Rose, my Rose

Rose, my Rose

Christmas Eve, nineteen seventeen,

I think of my Rose, just seventeen.

The tenor croons, the first little song of love.

In Picardy roses are blooming.

In Piccadilly my Rose is blooming.

The tenor swoons and our roads may be far apart.

Enlisting for France the Tommy singing,

In Petty France baby Tommy is singing,

Lambert Murphy on record in my heart.

Rose humming our song full of memories and bygones

Rose, my Rose remembering our love that is gone by

The song is the last little song she hears.

By Linda Prince