your love was a rose
sweet and lovely
the thorns pricked my fingers
but i didnt mind
i would rather
be pricked every time i held the rose
than never have your love again
so i held the rose with the thorns
until one day
the rose was gone
shriveled and gray
it had fallen off its stem
the only thing that lie in my hands
thorns
i held the thorns thinking it was the same as the rose
im sorry your love for me shriveled
but i will continue to hold the thorns
as i wait for another rose to grow
perhaps not all roses
are sweet and lovely
