The rose by the wayside was picked by a man of self-standing, and it turned modestly blue, alas the day wore on and the man
threw the flower off ifs lapel and for the simple reason it was
not as innocent as picked this morning.
Someone green left wing saw the flowers and planted it in
his poet of natural fertilisers. The flower grew and bloomed
pink not being sure where to belong I had only seen one lie
that before and that was in the black forest.
The plant was put up for sale as it had three colours by those
who had saved it and the longing for an upper-class life?
Expensive few could buy it but the man who had thrown it away
did and the flower was glad to be upper class,