Long ago in Fallow Down, A yellow rose was planted. A yellow rose of great renown, A Rose fore'er enchanted. A lavish sight for all to see, A masterpiece of petals, It grew in silence, fair and free, Like silk among the nettles. Then one morning, thick with fog, I wandered through the snows. And leaned against a hollowed log, And looked upon the Rose. For there it grew, echanted still, Unmarked, unchanged by time, Immune to age, immune to chill, Forever in its prime. "Children die and countries fail, And still this curst thing grows!" I cried aloud, let out a wail... And laughed, and picked the Rose.