The man's hands were so hard calloused and rough
From working too hard for too little pay
But his eyes so gently surveyed the flowers
As he picked the roses for his daughter's bouquet
Yes the fragrance remains on the hands of the man
From the roses he picked that day
And his heart swells with pride
As he walks by her side
Though it hurts him to give her away
Still he picked the roses for his daughter's bouquet
The man's face so weathered from wind and sun
Hides his emotions he dares not display
Though he tries hard to hide his love and his pride
Yet a tear streaks his cheeks from his eyes that day
Yes the fragrance remains from the sweet faded stains
From the roses he picked that day
His fondest wish would be that his late wife could see
All the roses in their daughter's wedding bouquet