IT is the picture of an English rose
It’s skin as fine as a silk
The smell so fragrant and bright
what is that rose.
I know not her name, that rose
She is so fine and bright
Her flesh is silk beyond compare
How long before,
she becomes withered and dry
I could bear to see her nought but fair
I captured her image so she could not fade and die
I love that rose so sweet and pretty
Now she’s all mine
