I wrote another poem!
It becomes more of a nonsense poem at the end.
A rose of pure beauty grows afoot a great oak,
The rose weak and delicate, easily broke,
But the oak tree stands tall, it is stronger and wide,
Yet lacking the beauty the rose has inside.
One tall, one slim, one pretty, one not,
But both have their place and they both mean a lot,
Though the tree lasts for years and the rose lasts much less,
It's own short lived life is quite equal to the best,
Of the trees that surround it I'm sure you'll agree,
That a rose makes a far better gift than a tree.