The Rose

Standard

(A vague translation based on “Mon Amie la Rose,” a French poem by Cécile Caulier and Jacques Lacombe)

“We’re nothing, I suppose,”

Hypothesized the rose

To the passing garden-bird

“At dawn I was born new

I was baptized by the dew

And blessed from above

Happy and in love

At night I closed the page

That was written in the stars

By sunrise I had aged

I once was beautiful

You called me beautiful

I blossomed by your word.”

“We’re nothing, I suppose,”

Hypothesized the rose

To the passing garden-bird

“I saw God who made me

Made me bow on bended knee

I took the fall from grace

Abandoned the embrace

My heart was stripped away

With one foot in the grave

Won’t matter either way

You loved me in my youth

I thought that love was truth

Perhaps that’s what I heard.”

We’re nothing, I suppose;

This morning was the rose

Found wilted by the bird.

The moon in mourning prayed

As her withered body laid

Then I saw, like a dream

A scintillating gleam

Her soul danced like a child

Beyond all mortal planes

And turned to me and smiled

I listened for her call,

Not nothing, after all;

It wouldn’t be absurd.

“We’re nothing, I suppose,”

Hypothesized the rose,

As she spoke her final word.

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