Roses Made Thin Poem by James McLain

Far off too the distant land my sea.
Such is each wave different we-race froward.
Three percent skimmed rich in Futures grace
With thee, 'I cherished the stride the pace.
The well worn way, I pursueth walking through,
forlorn are whom, that wear a smileless face.
The whole year through.
Made roses thin, from tireless use.
Thorns once when beggered, are refused.
When bloody red roses, are heavy made thin.