While the red of a rose may come and go,
where the light of day is evanescent.
The blush of her cheek will forever glow,
the light of her face is incandescent.

Nature can be harsh toward a flower,
it can twist and destroy all in a storm.
I grow fonder of her more each hour,
for the brush of her skin is always warm.

Though the beauty of stars consumes the skies,
and the soul of which will never weaken;
the strength of earth is deep within her eyes,
her grace is my everlasting beacon.

Though her body and mind consume my thought,
sadly, oh sadly she cares for me not.