Snowhite Blooming

There's a fair-smelling rhyme
On this garden of prose;
Over her the sunray shines,
Over my snowhite rose!

The Sun her petals tickle,
Amidst shady thorn'n prickle...

There is a bog, once so green,
Now rancid as I've never seen:
O sweet smell-of-flower,
Undo the spin of the hour,

In this weeping alley here
You lovely voice fruits bear!

There's a foul-smelling air
full of descent, o sad despair,
make me be forervermore,
a peace state - no war, no more!

There's a fair-smelling rhyme
On this garden of prose!
No "air" no "light" no "brine" -
Only my snowhite rose!