I am a yellow rose.
Good for nothing but friendship.
You hold me in your hand.
As you walk across the garden.
Red roses are tradition,
Lovely unlike the rest.
If not for their thorns,
Surely they’d be your favorite.
Orange roses shine in the sun.
More delicate than I.
They accept your every loving ‘brace.
I stare as you hold them.
I’ll never make you smile,
Not when they shine.
Yet Night and Day,
I’m told my love is requited.