Le Père

I've stolen a flower from your garden.

It was just a rose, a token, a gift.

I had not considered it would be missed

From such a place, where so many reside.

Ignorant, I was, of some Jekyll's Hyde.

I begged for mercy, provided my reason;

Alas! My act of love - turned to treason.

Such cruelty from that inhumane monster!

I took his flower; he stole my daughter.

The rose was not the only root I severed with my blade,

I had not seen the devil's thorn, sly under blossom's shade.

La Bête

I've stolen a flower from your garden.

A rose: beauty itself personified.

It was not until now, I realised

The exquisite treasure of a flower:

The worth, upon one, it could bestow.

Taken her, have I, from her heritage,

Treating her like some simple foliage,

When really I should now kneel before her,

She: my saving grace and deliverer.

Before such a rose; I had been cursed, sickened and forlorn.

Both her plague and her protector, I am the rose's thorn.