With A Rose So Stale

With a rose so stale, I lack the creativity
To express my love, with such bitter intensity
It hurts to think that my words may end up plain
But I may as well try, even if you show disdain.

Please, just accept these flowers picked from the moon's bloom
Blessed for eternity, less they never see your gloom.
For, I heard a lady's beauty comes from the flora
That radiates elegance, and strengthens her aura.

Whether that be true by any means, I may not know
For I am one of ignorance, and I let that show.
Yet, will you bless me with your refined grace?
One step at a time, and I'll follow your pace.

I understand my words are as cheesy as they come
And I apologize, as I know where you are from.
A place where words carry meaning, as they are the everlasting foundation
Of a society in love, something I will always know as the foreign nation.

So with a rose so stale, I lack the creativity,
to express my love, in this foreign territory.
In which some find simple and others complex
And after writing this, I know what must come next.