A Lady once found
A little Red Rose
Laying on the ground
Just where it had froze;
On a pale frosty petal
She blew her warming breath,
Gently bringing it back
From the brink of death.

Yesterday's token
Of a young man’s esteem,
But selfish words were spoken
Shattering their dream.
In anger it was thrown
On the path outside her door;
Two lovebirds instantly died
Right there on the cold floor.

This Lady now wonders
About the history of the Rose…
Is it sunshine, or thunders
That it would disclose?
She hopes it saw many
A romantic candle-lit eve
Where not a single word
Of anger did they breathe.

But, with an anxious mind
She feared it was not so,
Else, why did she find
It left where no Rose could grow?
Wouldn’t this emblem of love
Be worn with a sense of pride
Within the well-arranged hair
Of that future Bride?

So glad that she saved this Flower
From an undignified end,
She now begins to shower
Her love on this newfound friend.
Thus, a rare perfume
From within its heart is released,
Covering her in a fragrance
Like a special one from the East.

That notorious black day
Is many cold days past.
Now that Rose will stay
And be truly admired, at last!
Its petals are always open,
Never do they close,
A wonderful tribute to the Lady
Who saved it from death’s snows.