While Wandering With My Grandfather
A red rose in a white rose’s tree,
How unique could this be,
For the first time I see,
A red rose in a white rose’s tree
For how long will the red rose last?
Did it blossom in the past?
I wish it wouldn’t wither fast,
For how long the red rose will last
Should I pick the red rose for her?
Maybe this rose lasts forever,
Will it be missed by her forger?
Should I pick the red rose for her?
Perhaps the red rose must stay.
I am glad I saw it today,
she may bloom next May,
Perhaps the red rose must stay
A red rose in a white rose’s tree,
Can be so rare, but for me
There is more beauty and glee:
A red rose in a white rose’s tree
The poet was walking with his grandfather when he saw two rose’s trees, with entangled branches; therefore a red rose seemed to flourish in a white rose’s tree. Then those jiggling lines were naturally suggested. After sitting in the silent and peaceful inside of a mosque, with paper and pen, he wrote verses which mixed the red rose with the rare muse by him loved.
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