All creation, every creature
Faithfully reflects our nature,
Is a painting, book, or sign
Where our present is depicted
And our future state predicted
With precision, line on line.

What we are we see in roses,
Lovely glossary that discloses
How to read our mortal page.
Bravely they in dawnlight flower,
And then droop from hour to hour
Toward crepuscular old age.

Therefore, with each breath expiring,
Fragrant petals fade, aspiring
Only to expand and glow:
Inwardly with wrinkles laden,
Like a crone inside a maiden,
Roses dwindle as they grow.

So, in human life's fair morning
When our vernal day is dawning,
We at first may bravely bloom;
But that morning darkens slowly
Toward life's evening, and is wholly
Lost in twilight's general gloom.

Of earth's beauty, grace, and glory
There's one melancholy story:
In a little while they pass.
Death extracts its tribute cruel,
Ashes, dust, for girl or jewel,
Roses turned to hay like grass.