Oh sweet rose, beautiful and bright,
for a weary traveler, a wonderful sight.
Bringing back the memories of past picked flowers,
the traveler bends to pick it, enchanted by its powers.
But nay, his devotion is thwarted by pain,
for the rose has thorns underneath its mane.
And now the weary traveler, who brought no gloves,
is bleeding all for the rose that he loves.
The rose does not know and the rose does not care,
the pain that its caused on a traveler so rare.
and now the rose has been left all alone,
and the traveler is long gone, having made it back home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem