Alone rose grows atop a hill
Amidst a sea of weeds.
Surrounded by foliage
Unfit to touch it’s seeds.
How beautiful the singled rose!
How mystical this flower!
That dims the colors of the rainbow
‘neath it’s enchanting power
And though the rose rejects all those
Who’d pluck it with dagger-like thorns,
One cannot help but stare in wonder
Wishing it were yours.
“Friend!” you say to me,
“Forget your fickle flower!
I’ll show you a bloom to pale your rose
That you could have this very hour!”
But be it tulip, carnation, or poppy red as wine,
There is no bloom beneath the sun to pale this rose of mine.
Amidst a sea of weeds.
Surrounded by foliage
Unfit to touch it’s seeds.
How beautiful the singled rose!
How mystical this flower!
That dims the colors of the rainbow
‘neath it’s enchanting power
And though the rose rejects all those
Who’d pluck it with dagger-like thorns,
One cannot help but stare in wonder
Wishing it were yours.
“Friend!” you say to me,
“Forget your fickle flower!
I’ll show you a bloom to pale your rose
That you could have this very hour!”
But be it tulip, carnation, or poppy red as wine,
There is no bloom beneath the sun to pale this rose of mine.
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