Love was like a red red rose
So another poet said,
But a rose bloom lasts for just
Days, then withers and is dead,
Unlike a sapling oak
That, over the years
And over time rears,
To broaden, and maybe
Dominate a skyline.
The Oak more represents
The depth of any love of mine.
If it is a matter of choice
To define love by either of those
Then my love is like a standing oak
Not ephemeral like a red red rose