Everybody wants to know the reason.
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Why I wear this rose of white upon my breast.
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They don't know my poor heart died the day you left me,
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'neath this rose of white in peace, it's now at rest.
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Like the rose of white, my love was blooming.
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Your love was the sunshine Dear that made it grow.
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Like a rose that withers when the sun stops shining,
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Love won't grow and chills it like a winter snow.
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Once my heart was gay and filled with laughter.
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When so long ago we strolled along the dell.
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But it died within me when you found another.
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That's the cause for this white rose in my lapel.
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White Rose
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| Bill Monroe |
