I do love roses. I know that the orchid is more exotic, and the daffodil more egalitarian; the tulip more proud, and the sunflower more bold; the daisy is more shy and the iris much sexier, while the carnation fills buttons the world over. And how can I forget the buttercup and dogwood, or the rhododendron that provides the only color in areas bleak and gray. There are a thousand, thousand other blooms to choose from, and the rose so ordinary…but I do love its promise.
O my luve’s like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
O I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.
Hee. Who else? Robert Burns