Leaving, I gave my love a rose,
fragrant, royal, red,
saying "Take this flower from him
you kept from your bed."
Glaring at me, proud in parting,
sharply she said

"What am I to do with it?
Why give me this?
I don't want your gestures now
or farewell kiss."
Just as I'd guessed she would -
a chance not to miss.

"Just let it die," I said,
"wither and die.
Don't ever water it,
cover the sky.
Just like my love for you,
just let it die."

Turning she left me with her smile,
dazzling, royal, red,
saying "I shall keep your flower
though love has fled.
Having no root it must of course
quickly be dead."