The Rose

My dear, our love is like a rose.

It started when our hearts were soft ground,

ready for planting.

The seed was planted the moment I saw your face, and from there, it began to sprout.

Day by day that sprout grew, reaching up towards the sky. The storms were rough, but they only strengthened that little seed.

Just now we're forming a bud.

Years will pass before it finally blooms, when petal by petal it will open up.

And when it does, it will be the most magnificent sight you've ever seen. Many will stop to marvel at its beauty.

Winter will come, and with it many droughts. Times will be hard, we'll want to give up.

But if we rely on our master gardener to care for us and mend, I swear to you, we will make it through.

And by the time spring arrives, we'll start again, and bloom more beautiful than ever.

My dear, our love is like a rose that never dies.