Mrs Hechtman's Roses

Mrs. Hechtman lived next door And when her roses bloomed, She always brought us a bouquet To keep our house perfumed. The blossoms, of the palest pink, Were dangerously thorned Yet in my mother’s crystal vase, They kept our house adorned. I sometimes helped as Mrs. Hechtman Chose which buds to snip, A grown-up chore that caused my heart To swell with pride and skip. Those roses hadn’t crossed my mind For many, many years But when a memory’s that deep, It seldom disappears. A garden that I passed today Brought Mrs. Hechtman back, Her snipping scissor in her hand, The stems all in a stack. A sweeter bunch of flowers Never sat upon my table. I’d thank dear Mrs. Hechtman – Ah, if only I were able.