I have never been so envious of something as much as the rose
Can I be yearned for as much as she?
I wish to be celebrated in personal festivities, a crave and desire even the emperors could not shake
Commitment and love spills from her beauty
Some could not let her go, even if it meant living in poverty
But as any beauty withers away,
In winter’s cold embrace, dying as a rose only knows how
Her scent lingers through the gardens
A remembrance of her essence and power
Never to be forgotten
I will become the same in the time of transition
