• A rose with its fragile beauty
    Blooms bright and free
    In the the warmth of the sun
    And brings smiles to the faces
    Of all who see it
    But every rose has its thorns
    And when the icey winter
    Spreads its cold touch throughout the land
    The rose dies...
    Leaving only the ugly thorns behind
    Who then will want to smile
    At the thorn bush that once held such beauty
    But is now no longer wanted
    This shall be my fate as well..
    For when the ice of my heart
    Kills the roses from my soul
    So to shall I become the ugly bush
    With thorns waiting to hurt those
    Who venture too close
    While I wait in silence
    For someone to nurture me to life
    So I may once again have
    My beautiful roses
    and be loved by those who see me