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Cherokee Rose in an Old Tin Can ©2012 Robert George BMI/Mike Morgan/Jeff Elliot
She hung out her husband’s laundry in the morning light
And she saw a rose beside their rusty singlewide
It had wrinkled petals and that rose was fading fast
So she plucked it from the gravel and the dry brown grass
And she figgered that a soup-can vase
Would be better than a bed of rocks and sand
And she grew to love the ragged grace
Of a Cherokee rose in an old tin can
Well, her husband drove off when the tavern opened up
And she thought about her choices as she scrubbed the tub
How she married young to get free of that foster home
How a drunken husband is like bein’ on her own
And the lonely bed she slept on
Ain’t much better than a bed of rocks and sand
But tonight she’s goin’ to be strong
Like a Cherokee rose in an old tin can
She stood looking at that flower
With a teardrop on her nose
It needs something more to flourish,
Only tenderness can nourish
Such a fragile rose
Soon as he came home that night and passed out in his chair
She made sure she brought that rose and drove on out of there
Cos she had some babysitting money squirreled away
And by sunrise she’d be almost half a world away
Set that soup can on the cracked dashboard
Headed eastward in that old sedan
Soon the morning found that rusty Ford
And the Cherokee rose in an old tin can