I will save a dozen roses,
For the love I do not have,
For some years I'll hold a kerchief,
For the tears when I am sad.
And I'll save a precious letter,
For the one that's yet to come,
But they'll never see me coming,
Man is blind when they are young.
So, I'll walk along this shoreline,
As the village trails the hearse,
And I'll save a dozen roses,
To present them to you first.