My Pretty Rose Tree



A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said, ‘I’ve a pretty rose tree,’
And I passed the sweet flower o’er.

Then I went to my pretty rose tree,
To tend her by day and by night;
But my rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.


And could I understand what I'd done wrong? Could I hell. I was 'good'. I hadn't sinned, I hadn't strayed from the path of the righteous - I'd done nothing wrong. And yet. My pretty rose tree turned away from me. Why? All I want is my pretty rose tree, I want no other. Why has she spurned me now?

Looking back, I suppose my head was turned by that sweet flower's offer. Actually, I secretly smile to myself even now thinking about it. Oh, the possibilities, the delights, the ecstasy, the filth, the passion - sweet, juicy forbidden fruits...

My pretty rose tree can't see my thoughts, though. She can't see what I'm thinking. Can she? Can she? Did she see something in my manner, my mood, my body language?

Oh, my perverse delight in the sting of her thorns, the missed sweetness, the pain and pleasure of love!

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