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My love for you is like a red, red rose,
It started as a seed but it’s grown and grown.
Its roots reach deep down inside of my chest,
And it grows even more with each passing breath.
The delicate petals lay beautiful and pure,
All the doubts that I’ve had you have since cured.
For all the thorns that this proud rose bears,
They are all softened by the thought of your care.
Soon the rose grows old and withers and dies,
But the love that helped grow it will last for all time.
– Sam Fedarb
Laxman Prajapati 