What a beauty there is,
In a rose that’s just been kissed,
By the drops of the fallen rain,
The fragrance of which it contains.
With its thorns making it difficult to touch,
A rose cannot be dropped,
Once it has been plucked.
Its not just a disgrace to its beauty,
But the thorn should cut you!
I say. For you did not held it properly.
Can a flower be as beautiful as a rose?
The Dahlias look at me with their flowing petals.
They do have a very attractive nature.
The colourful giant of the Mexican flora,
Does have a very gripping aura.
But it is still not a rose.
It does not have the same fragrance.
It is not the same plant, these are not the same petals.
Oh dear God! What a creation a rose is.
Even with its bush of thorns,
I cannot stop me,
From letting my hands to reach you,
In case it needs to,
Be held by a hand that is careful,
To appreciate each shade of its red,
With its thorn, with its stem,
And the entirety of it being held.