A Wilted Rose
I am nothing but a rose
A red one, a yellow one or even a black one
Whichever color you do prefer
It makes me that which I have always been
Nothing but a rose
A rose, once in full bloom
Once full of love, filling everyone with laughs
A rose, now so withered
Withered at the way my gardener treated me
Having been attracted to a lilly
He left, for the great ocean
And made of me
A wilted rose
Still, I am nothing but a rose
I am what you see
Whichever colour you prefer
All frail and fragile
Waiting for the end of the day
When the night will fall on me
And closed will be my petals
Hopefully, in my new garden
I shall meet my old gardener
Hopefully, to my fragrance he shall be enamored
Hopefully, he shall tend me
To grow into a strong and blooming tree
A rose, nothing but a rose
Say, if you do blow across my way
Remember,
Remember of my fragility!
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