The Life of a Rose

There was once a rose who’s red indeed

In a field full of precious deeds

It was quite shy and afraid of touch

That was why it built thorns around its house


It may look strong and fine

But inside there was a hidden bawl

Raw and edgy at its finest

Fragile and pained at its lamest


The rose was filled with joy

When it saw a hand in close

Wishing to be touch, wishing to be hold

Wishing to feel love on its thorns

Continue reading “The Life of a Rose”

The Life of a Rose