Is sweet the scent of honeysuckle
With its colors of white, red, and yellow,
But many I've past seen buckle
A garden it is not for to mellow
Although the sun rise for morning-glory
Still it will grasp and tangle,
And its vines compromise a new story
Must leave my garden no plant to strangle.
Beauty and romance hides in a rose,
But the thorns are sharp this is true
These are facts everyone knows
No rose in my garden out with you.
I leave the rocks, the sand, and a worm
The weeds volunteer and grow up to here
It's my garden indeed and it always is firm
Best part of it is it'll last all year.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
If you want better than tell me what you want