There's something I see, that shouldn't be.
A white rose, surrounded by weeds.
The weeds have killed the other plants and thrive
except for this one rose, that's definitely alive.
I don't know whether the rose is strong or the weeds are weak.
But this picture is a mystery.

The rose blooms every night, and buds every morning.
Closing itself off from the other's mourning.
When it blooms it's the brightest thing
But when it hears the birds sing.
It closes shut, a mystery

I don't know why this white rose is so shy
When its beauty surpasses that of the night sky.
If it could only learn to spread its wings and fly.
And be the most beautiful thing to my eyes.

Spread its petals, that aren't so delicate
And show the world, all its elegance.
It takes the breath away from whoever views it.
But thorns scar those who try to up root it.
For you see, the white rose in the sea of weeds
Shall forever remain, a mystery.