My Love Is Like The Red Red Rose
No, this isn't the Robert Burns song of the same title. This lyric follows the metaphor out the window.
Brand new old songs of the '30s, '40s, '50s and '60s.
Lyrics
My love is like a red, red rose
Lush and lovely where e'er it grows
It glows so fair in the misty morn
'Mid tangled bramble and thorny thorn.
Tho' my rose would grow wild upon the vine
'Tis trained and trellised with bits of twine
O, the morning dew is the rose's tears
The rose cut short by the pruner's shears.
My rose needs heat, aye, and good soft dirt
Some horse sh** now and then couldn't hurt
As sure as the sun rises in the east
Upon my rose, the aphids feast.
My love is like the red, red rose
Doomed to wither where e'er it grows
It grows so fine with proper care
And dies on the vine in the cold, cold air.
My rose grows tall, my rose grows high
In the frosts of fall, my rose will die
The sap will rise in the warm spring rain
And like a sap, I shall love again.
And like a sap, I shall love again.
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