Oh Rose,
How u fight.
The thorns,
That are you.
Understand, do you not,
That they are a part of you.
That the ugly and the beautiful,
Oh, they are you.
Oh Rose,
How you wilt,
Seeing only your thorns.
Seeing only that,
Which causes you pain.
Not the crimson crown,
Which pleases others.
Oh Rose won't you see,
That you matter oh so much.
The dandelions may be jealous,
And the poppies ignoring.
But know this,
Oh Rose.
That one day you will see,
All that you have.
And thank you will,
The thorns so sharp.
And smile, a smile to envy,
And the world will bask in its glory.
Till then,
You will stay.
A solitary Rose,
The world your garden.
