The rose lives only a day
Though It's beauty is
Everlasting and naive.
It dances in the wind
And tips with a slight bind.
A tear falls from It's peddles
Leaving a hint of sorrow
In the hearts of all who see it.
The rose would not be elegant
If It's last peddle did not descend
And ceased to meet It's end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem