My petite blushing rose
come turn your face towards me.
Ignore yon flitting and buzzing pests
silly dandies in black and yellow vests.
I long to spring upon your long green stem
dance amongst your soft and silky leaves
I'd spin a sparkling web so sweet and fine
then weave two cups of dew from which we'd dine.
They will simply tease and rob you of your gold
and adorn themselves of your fine riches.
Then without so much as a thanks or care
they'd desert you for other treasure scenting the air.
They cannot need you or love you as my heart does
for they already have another queen to return to.
They are brazen, drunken fools that can't hold your wine
or understand this ache so pure as ever will be mine.
So cast but one glance toward this winsome beau
and I can draw my last breath with joy.
I'll spin us a heart of gossomer thread and dew
for Monsieur Arac. H. Nid and his lady rose too!