Elise finally succumbed to exhaustion just as the plane was circling Schiphol Airport. She was flying from New York to Amsterdam to visit an aging uncle. Elise had never left the U.S. before, had
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"Roses are red
And love is mad."
The poet sighs
And floods our eyes.
When love's too strong
To right the wrong,
Roses are red
And tears are shed.
Roses are white
In fair moonlight,
Where love on earth
Is full of worth;
Roses are blue
Like morning dew,
A mere mirage
In camouflage.
Roses are sweet
When love's discreet;
Roses have thorn
When love's forlorn.
The guilty bloom
In sweet perfume
Conquers our art
And ruins our heart.
The peaceful dove
The flower of love
Reflect our mind
And form our rhyme.
When love is glad,
When tears are sad,
Roses are red
Inside our head.
And love is mad."
The poet sighs
And floods our eyes.
When love's too strong
To right the wrong,
Roses are red
And tears are shed.
Roses are white
In fair moonlight,
Where love on earth
Is full of worth;
Roses are blue
Like morning dew,
A mere mirage
In camouflage.
Roses are sweet
When love's discreet;
Roses have thorn
When love's forlorn.
The guilty bloom
In sweet perfume
Conquers our art
And ruins our heart.
The peaceful dove
The flower of love
Reflect our mind
And form our rhyme.
When love is glad,
When tears are sad,
Roses are red
Inside our head.