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.