And So

Would a song by any other name
Sound as sweet and true?
Would all the reds be just the same
Or violets as blue?

If you were gone
Would words still flow
And would they rhyme with you?
If you were gone
Would I still know
How to love, and how to grow
And how the vowel threads through?

And so, you say, the saying goes
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
Is a rose is a rose is a tired rhyme
But in the verse there's always time

Would scansion cease to mark the beats if I went away?
Would a syllable interrupt the feet of tetrametric iambs when I am gone?
Listen, and I will sing a tune of love and life, and of the ocean's prose
And the poetry of a red, red rose that's nearly sprung in June

And so, you say, the saying goes
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
Is a rose is a rose is how I'm
Keeping track of time

When all the seas rise high, my dear
And rocks melt with the sun
Will the memory of us
Still rhyme with anyone?
Will we still tune our violins?
Will we still sing of roses?
Will we exist at all, my love
Or will we fade to stanzas of our dust
That, I suppose, is all we were and all we'll be?

And so, the saying, so it goes
Depends a lot on if a rose
Is a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
Is a rose is a rose is a thing sublime
And so we stay on borrowed time