A Wilted Rose

I am nothing but a rose A red one, a yellow one or even a black one Whichever color you do prefer It makes me that which I have always been Nothing but a rose A rose, once in full bloom Once full of love, filling everyone with laughs A rose, now so withered Withered at the way my gardener treated me Having been attracted to a lilly He left, for the great ocean And made of me A wilted rose Still, I am nothing but a rose I am what you see Whichever colour you prefer All frail and fragile Waiting for the end of the day When the night will fall on me And closed will be my petals Hopefully, in my new garden I shall meet my old gardener Hopefully, to my fragrance he shall be enamored Hopefully, he shall tend me To grow into a strong and blooming tree A rose, nothing but a rose Say, if you do blow across my way Remember, Remember of my fragility!