God took a walk through the garden,
The flower He plucked was mine.
I really wouldn't have minded,
But He left me behind.

Now the sun no longer shines on me,
And every day is rain.
This flower is here all alone,
Drowning in a river of pain.

So I raised my hands up to him,
And cried out in Jesus' name.
Was it something I did wrong,
Was I somehow to blame.

The rain is for you, my precious one,
To allow your blooms to sow.
And on your day of dying,
In Heaven your brilliance will show.

In time, my most beautiful flower,
In my garden you will see.
The most beautiful flower I've ever plucked,
And next to you, she will be.