as i was out walking this gray Sunday morn,
i felt forelorn.
i was pondering all of my "whys".
i was wondering at all of my lies.
i was wandering back to all my goodbyes.

and as i walked down the path i was led
i looked up ahead,
i saw a young woman down by the shore.
just why i wasn't sure.
but i wanted to know more.
you see it was plain to me
she was gently
dropping rose petals into the sea.
i questioned " why would that be?"
so i walked up to her,
and in my slow Texas slur,
i ask
"pardon me, miss, but why do you do such a task?'
why are those rose petals cast?
is this Sunday
some special Holiday?
or are they in memory of some love past?
a memory that still last?
a love you can't mask?"

she looked at me
and in her eye a single tear i could see.
her lips gave a sad smile
and all the while
rose petals fell like leaves from a tree
she said " you see, sir,",
her eyes somewhat a blur,
"my husband's out there,
somewhere,
across this bay, across the ocean, across some sea,
away from me.
away so far,
under a Middle Eastern star,
fighting a war.
and i miss him.
i wish i could kiss him.
and so each Sunday
i come to this shore,
if for nothing more,
than to say
'I love you' in my own special way.
the pink petals are for my heart,
that special part,
that will always love him.
the rose petals red
are for all the blood that's been shed.
the red are for all of them."

i reached into her basket
and i took out two.
"this pink one's for him & for you,
and a love so true ."
i said.
"and this red one's for all of the dead
and the live's that they led.
the red one is for each and every casket."

as i turned to go my way
i felt led,
so i turned and said
"in December
remember,
come what may,
you'll always have each Sunday
that you came here
to be near
a love so dear.
and though you may shed a tear,
never fear,
because in your memories
you'll always have your histories
of the one you love,
the one you think of.
there in your heart.
there in that special part."

"anyway...
see ya' next Sunday."