The last rose within a rose lies dry and bent, dying 
Over it's rot a drunk man kneels disrout 
The seasons and weather were not kind 
An idea forms as the he digs the plant out 
The rose within a rose is not down for the count 

Carefully the sober man carries the last of it's kind to his lab 
Within these walls he has the tools that gives him atout 
Placing it, carefully aside the rot he goes to a bin 
Inside are potatoes on potatoes all spread throughout 
The rose within a rose will not be wiped out 

The young man knew a potato would not solve this problem 
But inside was a grafting tool left due to him being undevout 
To his former profession of gardener of flowers 
They the potatoes saluted him with a shout 
The rose within a rose is in good hands with this boy scout 

Wait a minute, potatoes don't cheer 
Turned around, did a double take 
Maybe the man had too much beer 
What's that sound, could have been baked 
The spuds said wide awake: 

“Oh gardener of flowers, 
Please heed our wise advice 
Even with your great powers 
Beware of your sad vice!”

Before the man could listen to more 
He fled from the lab with haste 
Left the country, and swore 
Never to garden posthaste  
The man instead went into space