A red rose is what I wanted,
Single one is all I coveted.
Tried hard, but soon came to learn,
Roses perish under the desert sun.
Never the one to give up the try,
So why should I yell and Cry?
Not the one who would blame,
An idea shot up like a flame.
I picked a stem from my mind,
Green and ripe of the right kind,
And painted red petals on the stem,
Got a lovely rose with a green stem.
Daily watered my lovely rose,
With imagination as a hose.
Such a beauty was my rose,
No flower could come that close.
It has no morning dew to make it glimmer,
It has no fragrance to my heart's desire.
Even without thorns, it would sting,
A painted rose is never a real thing.