The bright colours and sweet smell
With green stems and sharp thorns
Fluffy and soft the petals are
Only when picked they shall die
Thorns prick and sting a few fingers
But the pain does not stay and linger
Blood trickles down the sleek stem
People often say "beautiful things hurt"
They are right nature is beautiful but it hurts
Soon the sun goes down
And the roses grow dark
Beautiful roses they are
