Joy's like that sweet red rose
that you would stop to smell
sweet fragrance going up your nose,
beauty of which origin you might dwell.
Joy's like that beautiful bird
that you would stop to hear
song of beauty you've never heard,
memories of these you hold dear.
Joy's like that dark black rose
that had just withered away
horrid stench going up your nose,
thinking back of better days.
Joy's like that empty tree
that you would stop to stare at
hoping to be just as free,
memories you hold dear of back.
Roses will wither ...
Birds will fly away ...
Joy never lasts
So grasp hold of today
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