12. Rose

Near at hand, far away
Grows a flower, makes my day
Two years now more than a name
Love lies quietly in your frame

The foreign climes suit you well
You have so many tales to tell
Though your rambles meet with scorn
I have yet to feel a thorn

Rose climb high into the sky
May your summer never die
In the soft light of your soft white
All you wish comes by and by

We find different ways to see
Perhaps we never will agree
But the rose will have her day
Grass turns brown and fades away

And who knows, heaven chose
Morning rose to be red
Sunset shows, evening glows
At the close rest your head

Wear your summer gown with grace
Tend the petals of your face
May your story happy end
May this remind you of a friend