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Tell me, is the rose always naked  Or is that her only dress?  Why do trees conceal The splendor of their roots? Who hears the regrets  Of the thieving automobile? Is there anything in the world sadder Than a train standing in the rain?

Tell me, is the rose always naked Or is that her only dress? Why do trees conceal The splendor of their roots? Who hears the regrets Of the thieving automobile? Is there anything in the world sadder Than a train standing in the rain?

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You Are My People | Our tribes make life more beautiful. | Read more at... artofabeautifullife.com

You are my people. Tribes are a beautiful thing. These are our people, the people to whom we belong and who belong to us. While we can have many friends, our tribe is special.

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