The rose is blasted, withered, blighted,
Its root has felt a worm,
And like a heart beloved and slighted,
Failed, faded, shrunk its form.
Bud of beauty, bonnie flower,
I stole thee from thy natal bower.
[Not the perfect in terms of petals... but imperfection is part of everything... no colour manipulation.. the camera did a slight white balance correction, but i corrected it.. this is how it looked during the rose show.]