Do heed those words of mine, O' my dear rose;

When you, out to this world, do journey forth,

If not you cared, threats in your way may pose;

And you may lose your charm's most cherished worth.

Do beware of that breeze which spreads your fame.

Though it seems nice, may in it's mind ill will,

Root and may misuse your charm and your name.

One day from misled fame, you suffer shall.

Do beware of those hands to pluck you up,

Which may try and in process, praise each part.

Don't trust those sweet lies and fall in their trap.

Do always with your thorns cover your heart.

And find that one who not pick you but grow,

In that pot of his heart, till he gets old.