Roses peer from over a wall,
Red roses, white roses, pink roses - all
So elegant and their leaves so trim
One would think that roses were not round but slim!
Delicately dancing in the morning sun,
These roses are small, ungrafted ones.
Imagine the bee busy poking around:
'It's a gold mine I've struck, the honey I've found! '
But not honey, nor colours, nor 'wafting-of-scent-
In-the-breeze' is the essence, the reason I meant;
Not darling conceptions of popular verse -
The rose in itself is precious.