March 5, 1947 - December 29, 2006
The Last Rose of Summer
By Thomas Moore
Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone,
All her lovely companions
Are Faded and gone
No flow’er of her kindred
No rosebud is nigh
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.
I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on the stem,
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep though with them
Thus kindly I’ll scatter
Thy leaves o’er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may I follow
When friendships decay;
And from love’s shining circle
The gems drop away
When true hearts lie wither’d
And fond ones are flow’n
Oh! Who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
Our hearts remember
Love Fran, Aaron, Anthony, Paul
