A wilted rose to vigor will always arise
When proper care and vigilance be spent.
The attar of the strengthened rose brings sighs
In all whom awesome nature’s stockboard lent.
And think the essence damaged by the flower’s wilt?
Or call it spoilt with the merest petal’s fall?
Say nay, nor even though it was the gard’ner’s jilt
The perfume is the better distilléd from the fall.
Now rise in sunshine and drink of purest dew,
The fairest flower ‘mong the fields, brought low;
Forget the blows of wind and storm, that you
Can stand stalk-strong amidst the weeds that bow.
The day is yours to claim as ye will have,
No prickly boss henceforth will feel your prickles’ salve.
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