The witch lived alone in the shadow of the forest. Her cottage, with its crooked door and moss-covered shingles, was perched at the edge of a still, green pond with an overgrown orchard beyond. Only ... [+]
"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.