There is a temperate zone in the mind, between luxurious indolence and exacting work; and it is to this region, just between laziness and labor, that summer reading belongs.
Henry Ward Beecher
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Ramblin' Rose
Ramblin' rose, ramblin' rose
Why you ramble, no one knows
Wild and wind-blown, that's how you've grown
Who can cling to a ramblin' rose?
Ramble on, ramble on
When your ramblin' days are gone
Who will love you with a love true
When your ramblin' days are GONE
Ramblin' rose, ramblin' rose
Why I want you, heaven knows
Though I love you with a love true
Who can cling to a ramblin' rose?
Ramblin' rose, ramblin' rose
Why I want you, heaven knows
Though I love you with a love true
Who can cling to a ramblin' rose?