There was once a red, red rose,
Who stood very tall and proud.
Its slender stalk swayed to the breeze,
and its lovely petals blossomed,
Most beautifully to the clouds.

"I am the most lovely of all flowers," said the rose to himself.
"None is to compare with myself."
Proud was this red rose indeed,
That he thought himself quite unique.

His crimson petals gleamed in the golden sunlight,
And scarcely a chance missed he,
To gloat to the other flowers.
"Such a haughty rose!" The other flowers would exclaim.

The red rose was disliked by his neighbours,
But never a care did he give to it.
"What's it to me anyway?" said the rose all to himself.
"It's naught to me that they hate me so.
I am afterall, the loveliest."

One day, a young damsel walked in the garden,
Where grew this very rose,
And she caressed and pampered each flower.
"Pick me, pick me!"...