Once they have their beauty,
colors of red and yellow.
Wonderful flowers to see,
over the peaceful meadow.

A gardener, the sun,
takes pride of their vibrancy.
He showers them with warmth.
he keeps them dry and sunny.

The sun loves his roses,
he gave them more of his gift.
Too much of his brightness,
his extreme passionate kiss.

Alas, simple roses,
trapped and caught in in immense heat,
have dried and turned to crisps.
His life giving warmth… their death!