The h2g2 Poem
Created | Updated Nov 18, 2004
Red Rose in a Pot
A rose is a rose, is a rose, is a rose.
Gertrude Stein, maybe you know
Wrote this line 'bout a rose.
Who was she would you know?
She was fat and lived in Paris
Great supporter for art and artist.
Pablo painted some her portraits
Ugly as looked, she did not like it.
Pablo said that did not matter
You'll be like that soon or later.
But the rose is still a rose, a rose
Why is that such a beautiful rose?
The rose was red and blooming, I saw
Sat in a pot and sure it was sold
Wrapped in shiny, kitschy paper
To DEADLY HANDS OF DECORATORS.
Pretty red rose, ah your beauty
Cheers up dead souls, you are lovely
But a dark soul hates your beauty:
She will kill you: 'DIE FOR ME!'
The rose grew beauty in the sunshine,
With fine fragrance for your surprise,
But the hatred of the killer
Put the rose in darkness in there!
The rose knew she made a mistake:
To show her beauties for give it away
It was too late pretty red rose
You have to die in darkness indoors.
Who cares for your silent dead there?
Decorative object for them:
Living red rose please don't worry
Soon will shine light for your beauty!
The 'inspiring' source for this poem came from the following story.
It happened in a physician's office. When I stepped into the waiting room the first sight was the Red Rose in a Pot sitting on the shelf before the receptionist's window. The room had no windows - only artificial light let you look around. In front of the Red Rose in a Pot was a little cardholder for the doctor's business cards. But in the dark room it struck me that the rose will die there and the cards suddenly looked to me like a miniature tombstone for the doctor. I told my association to the doctor and, needless to say, the Red Rose in a Pot was quickly moved to a sunny window in his office with plenty of sunshine - never again to be used to adorn the dark waiting room by an apparently unconcerned decorator.
