As a young boy I was told,
I will understand as I grow old.

As for now,
In the gardens of roses,
I take delight,
To marvel at nature,
In it's awesome sight.

Yes, the pure sweet looks of growth I behold,
Where the secrets of blooming life are all foretold,
To this garden bursting with life,
Young and old, a place for all,
Come to this garden that's so very small.

Once I asked, "But why don't the roses smell?"
Angrily I'm told, "Because they are planted in the BaBe Yar Hell.