The gardener gifted me a rose,
when I was gently passing his way
a bright smile lighted his face
"The best that bloomed
in this garden to day, is yours" were his words.

His sweet manner is a ploy, I presumed,
I plucked one I liked, on the sly,
once I was away from his eyes,
"The best is this, now in my hands,
No way you can deceive me, I've craft"

My love chose the first among the two,
no doubt, that's the best, in her heart she knew,
why did I doubt the gardener in the first place?
not just his eyes, his heart too was perfect.