I saw a rose bloom in the winter,
it's petals blood colored,
Unwilted by the weather.
So I picked swiftly,
bleeding on thorns,
And took it back to my empty home.
I serenaded it,
blessed it's beauty,
And somehow it flourished in my company.
And now today,
I wear it,
behind my ear.
Because although there I cannot see it,
That winter rose,
is always there.
YOU ARE READING
32 Ways to Say Help
Short StoryHey guys, we are just two teens and two upcoming writers trying to write stories what people feel. Teenagers suffer from depression and everything that's changing in our lives. These are just some stories and poems you can relate to but the point is...
