If you could accept this rose instead of gold,
It will be the first of a many-colored garden.
While the coins would be just grey and old,
loved only by an ailing and aged warden.
The richest woman on this side of heaven
will lean over the fence to pluck a daisy,
and after they plucked more than seven,
They will throw coins in delighted praise,
But gold, only gold, has no safety in here,
The ravens will fly and take to their nest
And every pine will have their fair share.
Now bring the rose closer to your chest:
The soil is fertile and with motherly care,
Paradise will be a garden blooming on west.