Butterflies drifting across it,
Bees that go humming by,
The rose belongs to a June day
In gardens that smile at the sky...
Swaying to summer's music
On its gracefully slender stem,
It wears in a queenly manner
A dew-spangled diadem...
Folded within its soft petals,
Lie dreams that are long unfilled;
Heartbreak, dear memories and rapture,
Along with its perfume are spilled. ~Ada B. Childs
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