What is love, be it a red blushing rose?

You shall not see it yet until it grows,

Yet when it does, don’t get an overdose,

What does it survive on, no person knows?

If the thorns grow sharp, be sure to hold tight,

May your tears fall, and yet your voices rise,

Though, these things seem not to be going right,

And surrounded by both your tired sighs,

But thou shall not be those star crossed lovers,

And yet, shall those sharp thorns very soon fall down,

Tears shall subside and thy rose recover,

Growing better than ever, do not frown;

Forgotten not the rose, though years may pass,

Watch it with care; never shall it hit the grass.