A mother stood beneath a cross
Gazing at her son.
As death's cold fingers gripped her heart
Knowing soon Love's will be done.

Her hallowed eyes and broken heart
Were burning from within,
Trying hard to hold the tears
So readily to begin.

But silvery tears began to trickle
Down her saddened face,
Softly dripping one by one
Upon the barren waste.

So grateful was the arid ground
To taste the tears that fell,
That it grew a rose without a flaw
The world could not excel.