Why then, rose, so sharp thy thorns?
A defensive pose assumed ?
When all that’s on my mind is to
Gently pluck thy blooms?

Why is red your hue of choice
When yellow’d do as well?
Do you, when coy bees visit you,
To them, your secrets, tell?

And when is a rose surely a rose
And not a dandelion?
My nose can tell the difference but
My brain just might be lyin’.