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Within a pleasant garden grew

     A gorgeous English rose,

But who had put this rose bush there?

      The truth is: no-one knows.

 

Its flowers were of the deepest red;

     Its leaves were emerald green

And of all the roses in the world

     It was the best we’d seen.

 

Its perfume carried on the breeze;

     Bees came from far and wide

And the rose bush felt formidable;

     Its flowers blushed red with pride.

 

The other pretty flowers soon saw

     How haughty it became.

This snooty rose, so full of pride,

     Said things to cause them shame.

 

It spread its roots beneath the soil

     And killed the other flowers

And it soon became abominable

     Because of all its power.

 

One day the owner of the house

     Decided what he’d do.

He bought a pair of secateurs

     And cut the rose bush through. 

 

'You’ve taken over everything.

     You’re arrogant, you’re proud!

You’ve sent your roots to where you know

     They’re really not allowed.'

 

'You thought you were the king of plants

     Above the flowers I love,'

And, as the rosebush fell to earth,

     These words rained from above.

 

It’s sad to say that pride can grow

     And soon become conceit,

So, when you venture on this path,

     Watch where you plant your feet.

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