The red rose, a thing of such beauty,
With it’s sweet fragrant scent,
Which intoxicates the senses.
But it has thorns to pierce
The skin of those who don’t handle it with care,
To inflict pain on those who don’t respect it,
Who foolishly try to pull it out by its roots.
Then it reveals its other side,
And has the power to draw blood in its defence.
This is its right, in its fight for survival.
It can spawn many more, as if nature
Inspired by its beauty, repeatedly emulates it
So that its beauty won’t die out. |