A rose, to blossom, need care,
it demands the comforts of water
and its feed.
For its growth, it requires protection,
from nature, the cold will kill it bare,
yet heat will boil it to wither,
if its crushed it is no more.
Yet after your patience, and
your attention, see that no other
shall reap its fortunes of its beauty.
Yet I pray you see, that even a rose,
will die, and be no-more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem