I carry a rose
A beaut among the thorns;
I carry and carry
for the love I bear dearly.

Oh my journey was painful,
through storms and droughts I go,
I care not for calamity,
I care only for my noble journey;

But alas,
The rose,
Once red, now withered brown,
the green stem now a dry lump of a stick,
and the leaves dried and flew with the wind.

But I care not,
I place it down,
I place it down from where you've rest,
Then I as well, took my rest.

And with my deed done,
I shook my head and left,
And I left the rose from where you've rest,
But I know to myself,
and to the coming times I tell,
I carry a rose,
And it was beautiful like you.