She is MY rose.

To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think

that my rose looked just like you— the rose that belongs to me.

But in herself alone she's more important

than all the hundreds of you other roses:

because it is she that I have watered;

because it is she that I have put under the glass globe;

because it is for her that I've killed the caterpillars

(except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies);

because it is she that I have listed to, when she grumbled,

or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing.

Because she is MY rose.

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupery