In a garden where red flags do love to sway,  
Our pink eyes instead see beauty, but not the fray.  
Though the mix of colour are rose’s gleam,  
The thorns are hidden in a deeper scheme,  
And the sharpness can lead two hearts astray.

Lay me to rest in a field of roses, Where the roots unfurl to my decaying heart, Gracefully feasting on the love I have for you, Further spreading to my brain.
To drink every thought and treasured memory of you, As the sun beams, blooming serenely to the lukewarm touch, Recollecting memories of your tender hug.
The lingering scent of roses, your fragrant echo of memories past. As the sun descends, the petals retreat to a serene slumber, Comforted by your watchful gaze among the stars.
And when the field of roses is gathered by a devoted admirer, The moment he offers them to her, May the flowers bloom and radiate an immense love, A testament to the love I once had for you.

She's just like a rose,
with beauty that pales all others.
Her name, everyone knows,
Her praise, everyone utters.

with beauty that pales all others,
thorns hidden under the leaves.
Her praise, everyone utters,
a danger no one perceives.

thorns hidden under the leaves,
Her influence only spreads.
a danger no one perceives,
filling everyone's heads.

Her influence only spreads,
she waits like a beast in repose.
filling everyone’s heads,
she’s just like a rose.

Ich lief dynamischen Spaziergangs
An einem Rosenbusch vorbei,
Dann für ein paar schöne Sekunden,
In denen ich mich überwunden,
Kam ich in Rosenduftgenuss,
Es war so lieblich wie ein Kuss.

The last rose petals fall to the ground
leaving the rosehips bare
as autumn’s chill again comes around
to strip blooms that had been fair
The rosehips have hairs all wiry and grey
that also break off, one by one
Her color is gone, she fades away
until this rose lady’s season is done
Her petals arrayed on frosty soil
decay gently in the cold rain
while in her hips, seeds are born
to bring forth new roses again

There once was a sneezer named Rose
Who'd sneeze to the tips of her toes.
    She once sneezed so heinous
    She puked out her ****
And blew out her brains through her nose.

I have so often wondered why the rose in the yard kept being a rose when everyone else is a dandelion,
or why it would recite light when midnight is still in the land’s arms.

When the spring rages,
and the rain dry of its songs,
when the colors are famished
of their sky,
when the stars abed fail to rise,
this rose is unfazed.
ever flamboyant on the stage,
gliding gracefully on ebony ice,
this rose has a will of a cactus.

The thorns may have cut my hands off  
but not my will.  
It's mine whether to take the rose—  
yes or no!