The Mistress of Word Play

 


Red Rose 


 

 
Said the yellow rose to the rose of red,
“You are all but dead,
see how you hold your head,
your beauty has all but fled.”

The red rose having felt the blows,
growing there among the rows,
threw back her head and up her nose.
She stood tall and straight upon her toes.

Their mistress found the garden fair.
She wanted a rose to place in her hair,
a beautiful flower she could wear.
She spied the two roses growing there.

“She will pick me,” the yellow one said,
“for you are almost completely dead.
See how your petals start to shed.
I will grace the fair maiden's head.”

The red rose quite disheartened did vow,
and dropped her face as if to bow,
but the maiden chose red rose, somehow,
and yellow rose sits by herself now.


Red Rose



 
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