Author Pablo Neruda Tell me, is the rose naked Or is that her only dress? Why do trees conceal The splendor of their roots? Who hears the regrets Of the thieving automobile? Is there anything in the world sadder Than a train standing in the rain? Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments