A Whisper of Roses (by chatGPT)
Beneath the sun, in quiet repose,
Blooms the gentle, crimson rose.
Petals soft as silken thread,
A crown of beauty, richly spread.
Its fragrance drifts on morning air,
A fleeting joy, beyond compare.
With thorns that guard its tender grace,
It stands a queen in nature’s space.
A lover’s gift, a poet’s muse,
A symbol of what words refuse.
Each blossom holds a story told,
Of passion, dreams, and hearts of gold.
Yet seasons turn, and roses fade,
Their splendor lost to time’s cascade.
But in our hearts, their memory grows—
Eternal bloom, the soul of the rose.
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Grateful 