• There sits upon your table a white rose,
    A silken blossom,
    Living by something so simple,
    As clear, fresh water, unperturbed in fluted glass.

    And it sits there,
    My white rose,
    The white rose stands for pure love I said,
    Yet you didn't know what it meant.

    And it sits there still,
    My white rose,
    Weeks, months,
    For I have counted the days
    Since I have kissed your mind.

    And now,
    My poor white rose,
    Will you still be there?

    Do you know what the yellow rose stands for?
    She asked.

    It stands for friendship I said,
    Staring at the vibrant, young yellow rose,
    Rose on the table between us,
    The Rose on my table.