The hours I spent with thee, dear heart, Are as a string of pearls to me; I count them over, every one apart, My rosary. Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer, To still a heart in absence wrung; I tell each bead unto the end -- and there A cross is hung. Oh, memories that bless -- and burn! Oh, barren gain -- and bitter loss! I kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn To kiss the cross, Sweetheart, To kiss the cross. When I found the Rosary it laid in the street along with debris and other personal items that had been blown out of the Murrah Building, I slipped it into my pocket as if it was a gift of God that he had spared me from this tragedy! Later that day I found my self at a Red Cross shelter about 13 blocks North of the blast, it had been set up in St. Luke’s United Methodist Church and this is where I would stay for the next 14 days sleeping on a cot along side about 200 other people, some where victims some where family members waiting on any word that they had found thei