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When I was in my prime,
I flourished like a vine.
Along there came a false young man,
Who stole the heart of mine.(2)
The gardener standing by,
Three offers he made to me.
The pink, the violet, and red rose,
To which I refused all three. (2)
The pink's no flower at all,
It fades away too soon.
The violet is too pale a bloom,
I think I'll wait till June. (2)
In June the red rose blooms,
But it`s not the flower for me.
I think I'll pluck the red rose off
And plant a willow tree. (4)
