Oh chrysanthemum,

beautiful white truth.

Woe, woe, to the chrysanthemum,

to the white chrysanthemum.

The stained flower now sits and waits,

bright and colorful, unnatural to the eye.

The purity ruined, the beauty cursed,

Woe, woe, to the chrysanthemum.

Perhaps one would walk by and notice,

and carefully pluck it from the ground,

place it in a vase, admired by all,

But the moment of fame will be fleeting.

White chrysanthemum they soon they will see-

see that your colors did not come naturally!

They will cast you out, and there you will stay,

alone and wasted, dirty, and fake.

Oh white and pure chrysanthemum

how you would have flourished had you stayed,

stayed wholesome, innocent, pure, and good-

this truth brings happiness, and joy.

Don’t you think that better than fame?