Rose Red

Gather your brushes and buckets and knives
For we’re painting the roses red
Hurry; let’s scurry to bring to life
Petals now lively with death
What once wore white
The color of fright
Now adorns a gloom most grim
Neither the cogs of time
Nor a touch most divine
Could ever rewind the dim
 The dew doth not water
The sun doth not feed
Now all of the garden is brown
Should the deck catch sight
What’s become of this plight
Surely they’d sport a frown
With a flick of a wrist
And our arms in a twist
Chop! Chop! Go the vines on our heads
Now hurry, please hurry!
We must rush, we must scurry
We’re painting the roses red