A Rose Belongs Not In a Vase
A Rose belongs not in vase,
But on a thorny vine--
In shades of white, or yellow,
Or hues like scarlet wine.
And God forbid a dozen
Be held hostage in some room--
Slowly dying day by day
In the Housewife's comely tomb.
But spring will resurrect them
In their shades of red, and white--
As the honeybees each celebrate,
And the butterflies delight!
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