Under the rose garden,
Lays our most precious burden.
In a flowery box,
With all his
toys and favorite blocks.
Only a few months old,
Enough for us to dearly hold.
We could not let go,
Pure and lovely, as fresh snow.
His eyes, large and round,
Black, curly locks, on his crown.
Grasp with his little fingers,
His baby-blanket scent, forever lingers.
Short, the time he spent,
Cherished memories to augment.
Under the rose garden,
Lays our most precious burden.