Rose

Rose

 

It is not frightening, the thorn the spike.

I stand to defend its beauty,

Belong to no man, not god

Nor clergy.

Only life does hold

Her key.

 

I held fair Rose betwixt my grip

Belonged to me she whispered,

Yet fatal and foolish was that b*****d

Thorn prick, my blood did spill all the same.

 

I dropped, and cried, my skin pierced and open.

Sting that thorn, a place in my heart

As I held it too close, in fear.

 

To flee you could, it is now try

To pick up once more, dear Rose.

For comfort to sting poor heart once again.

 

My blood, too far the dear did spill,

The Rose is gone, I wish it did kill.

My heart still flows the tearful form,

While Rose is mine, nevermore.