When I was in my prime, I flourished like a vine. Along there came a false young man, Who stole the heart of mine.(2) The gardener standing by, Three offers he made to me. The pink, the violet, and red rose, To which I refused all three. (2) The pink's no flower at all, It fades away too soon. The violet is too pale a bloom, I think I'll wait till June. (2) In June the red rose blooms, But it`s not the flower for me. I think I'll pluck the red rose off And plant a willow tree. (4)