Rose, God bless thee.
How quick you were to go
into a world so bitter
from roots you did not know.

Your beauty hath betrayed thee,
it steals thy youth away;
for now a lonely glass encasement
encases your decay.

If you had been a daisy,
your youth, your life, prolonged,
how lovely it would have been
to feel the earth so long.

Rose, God bless thee.
How putrid life must be
flattering the eyes of those
blind to your despondency.