Would You Trust a Yellow Rose?

The ramblings of a yellow rose, What are they, do you suppose? And is there any sense in prose, When written by a rambling rose? And does it have a single purpose, Or is such stuff as this simply surplice? And if we were to juxtapose, With artwork of a deep red rose, Would it be that yellow prose, Simply failed to keep its pose? And tumbling down to fall apart, Are ramblings written of yellow's heart. A yellow heart that nearly froze, Just because the artist chose, To base his work on redder rose, While creating lovers prose. While yellow must suffice to spend, His imaginary to represent a friend, And much as this he could pretend, He’d rather it not start a trend. For rambling on, like a rose, His thoughts follow where a lover goes, And impatiently he tos and fros, And through him yellow always shows. So, in the dimming of the day, As the artist puts his pen away, Sometimes young lovers loose their way, And with their loved ones cannot stay. With yellow creeping into mind, Love's ideals are left behind. So what's the point of yellow prose? Does it have one, do you suppose? And when supposition comes to a close, Would you trust a yellow rose?