Just A Few Of The Roses We Gathered From The Isar Are Fallen, And Their Mauve-Red Petals On The Cloth Float Like Boats On A River, While Other Roses Are Ready To Fall, Reluctant And Loth. She Laughs At Me Across The Table, Saying I Am Beautiful. I Look At The Rumpled Young Roses And Suddenly Realise, In Them As In Me, How Lovely The Present Is That This Day Discloses.