They say a yellow with long and thorny stem, stands for friendship's of which we may not amend.
They say its flower petals collect a human dew. One tear of gladness one of sorrow, in a light a sharing, to best pronounce its hue.
They speak of gardens as long as lifetimes, where many yellow roses grow.
Where we tread carefully, yet graciously, among the myriad of friends we know.
They say the paupers gardens, are where the hardiest flowers may be. For there they grow abundant both wild and free.
They also say, if I picked just one, and handed it to you my friend. It would mean a whole new garden for me!
Author : Bob Morrow ©
