Faye Sizemore


Yellow roses were blooming
when I took my leave
Momma had planted them
there upon brother’s grave
where we all did grieve
I remember their perfume
It comforted me in my gloom

I know that by now they have spilled
up and over the little graveyard fence
I have dreamed of them
… many… many times hence.
It has been a hard two years
and many miles have brought me here
since the path of a soldier I had chose

I thought often of the flower
that Momma called her ‘Carolina Rose’
There is blood upon my uniform of gray
Of battle I`ll not see another day…
for I know at last I shall be going home
No more strife…no more woes
Resting forever beside my brother…

lying ‘neath Momma’s Carolina Rose…

The Carolina Rose
The Carolina Rose