She at all are my rose, she’s my everything.
I have tamed her and she is beautiful,
One could have die for her.
To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like her.
But in myself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses:
Because it is she that I have watered;
Because it is she that I have put under the glass globe;
Because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen;
Because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars,
(except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies);
Because it is she that I have listened to,
When she grumbled, or boasted,
Or even sometimes when she said nothing at all.
Because she is my rose.