Blooming bushels of rouge,
That I only pick for you.
Prickly points of green,
You ponder why they're so mean.
Bouquets arranged in wondrous ways,
"I can't help but want more!" you say.
Birthdays, recitals, and funerals too,
And their vases vary from porcelain to shoe.
What a divine delight roses can be,
That is why they are remarkable to me.