Rose and Roo

The Rose aloft in sunny air,

Beloved alike by bird and bee,

Takes for the dark Root little care

That toils below it ceaselessly.


I put my question to the flower:

“Pride of the Summer, garden queen,

Why livest thou thy little hour?”

And the Rose answered. “I am seen.”


I put my question to the Root,

“A hidden miner underfoot:

“I mine the earth content,” it said,

I know a Rose is overhead.”