Rose's Sad Sleep (Old poems 008) I don't know if I've posted that one. I'm losing track. Here. This is your rose. I found her, poor, played In the middle of the street corner; Under your balcony. Not every tale is a fairy; Not every night has a moon. Accept it without saying anything: Here, this rose is yours. And it will always be this rose, So simple and glorious, Which will remind you Who, along with this flower, I gave you my love Try to win you over.