Roses are the most beautiful flower;
The sight of one turns my thoughts into prose.
Yet I’ve done ev’rything in my power,
But still, I shall ne’er be fair as the rose.
The rose stands dignified and elegant
With the most graceful composure I’ve seen,
And white, with purity and innocence,
It is more guiltless than e’er have I been.
In flawless form, its tender buds burgeon,
But I doth lack a perfect symmetry.
In ideal balance, each flow’r emerges,
Unlike my imperfect anatomy.
     Yet, despite all of this, thy love remains,
     And grateful I shall be for all my days.