A rose as red as the blood
Pricked from your finger
On her thorns
A bud so small it goes unnoticed
So many in awe of the garden of flowers
But on her they never focus
The sweetest scent never to be smelled
Petals so soft and smooth yet never touched
Her innermost beauty she withheld
For fear of being crushed
Afraid they’ll pick her for her loveliness
And toss her aside for her thorns
She believ...
