There are forty million roses in my yard,
Every morning I sit at the door with a book.
All passers-by will praise my roses as they pass by.
Some people wanted to take off one or two flowers, but I ignored them all.
Until that day you come,
His smiling eyes narrowed into crescent moons and he asked me: "What book are you reading?"
I knew that these 40 million roses were all yours.
I just remember that day you stood among the flowers and smiled brightly,
The roses as delicate as blood beside her all turned pale.
I want to bring my admiration with these 40 million roses,
Send it to you together.