"No Pure, Pure Rose"

Response to:

"A Red, Red Rose" by Robert Burns

O my Luve's like a red, red rose,

That's newly sprung in June;

O my Luve's like the melodie

That's sweetly played in tune

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,

So deep in luve am I;

And I will love thee still, my Dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear

And the rocks melt wi' the sun;

O I will love thee still, my Dear

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee well, my only Luve

And fare thee well, a while

And I will come again, my Luve,

Tho' it were ten thousand miles!

"His Love is no Pure, Pure Rose" by Brooke Anderson

O his Luve's no pure, pure rose,

(But) Perhaps dying for Fall;

O his Luve's no sweet song

(But) Perhaps doom and gloom for all.

With words, he claims to love me long

And withstand the testing tides;

Until the drying earth, he claims,

By me, he'll stay beside.

By me, he'll stay beside, he says

Apocalypse on the horizon;

His words mean nothing more,

than youth to the wizen.

And fare him well, from his Luve

And fare him well, for long;

In hopes of no return, my Luve

Together we don't belong.