Friendship is like the holy tree
The holy is dark when the rose – briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose – briar is sweet in the spring
It summer blossoms scent the air
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose – wreath now
And deck the thee with the holly’s sheen
That when December blights thy brow
He may still leave thy garland green
--unknown--
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