White stemmed rose; dew drips off your bright red lip.
Placed between olive tree and the sun,
in all minds but one,
your beauty may slip.
They may find your eyes cold, dirty and dun.
And they may see you lacking in soul,
or laugh at your failures and shun your gain.
And they may find your look quite bland and dull,
or they may cross your glares or call you vain.
but in the mind of that one,
they think lies.
You have more beauty than a phoenix down.
With wonder and shine aglow in your eyes,
happiness and peace with you I have found.
So sweet rose, fight against the forceful air
until I pick you for my own heart's care.