At the end of every winter comes spring, and every year a flower or two blooms too early and is frozen by the frost that comes every moring, it's not the frost that is evil, but the fault of the rose that falls for the early signs of spring. I some times see myself as this rose, thinking I was being aaccepted and I show my true colors, but like the rose, I had read the signs wrong and my heart gets frozen, after a while you learn to wait until there's no time left to bloom and you sit there as a seed in the dirt your beautiy hidden away from the world, at least until some one notices the small seed and nututres you into your full potentail.
