A Pretty Rose

We are shivering flowers,
dithering in the breeze,
endlessly blown by the wind with ease,
with roots that learn to grow through stone;
deep and strong and hard as bone
and thorns that lie tucked out of sight;
behind each leaf and petal bright;

So pity those who come to pluck,
a piece of us their blood they’ll suck,
from each pricked finger to staunch the flow,
removing thorns before they go,
as barbs and briers tear at their clothes,
they’ll yell out…
“Ouch! Such a pretty rose!”

©️ 2021 Lathen Griffiths