• A rose grew solely in he woods.
    Still covered in all her adorning thorns,
    And her red lips were kissed by the dew.
    The sun gave her warm hugs,
    And taught her how to grow.
    But human hands found her tantalizing.
    From her roots, she was pulled.
    Uplifted from her solitude.
    Torn from the soil she knew.
    Her thorns dug into the flesh,
    And a crimson tear slid down the hand.
    But the man took no notice.
    He stormed through the woods,
    While grasping the rose by the throat.
    The sun hid behind the clouds,
    And the sun's tears fell like rain.
    He took her into a room,
    With a single flickering light.
    The thorns were sliced off,
    And her leaves ripped off.
    Naked lay the rose,
    With all her scars in bare light.
    The man gave an unsatisfied grunt.
    He held that once beautiful rose to the light.
    Her petals were withering,
    And red slowly faded to black.
    Her head hung low in shame.
    "No rose her," hissed the man.
    Tossed to the ground the rose.
    "Nothing more than a weed."
    And that is all he ever thought of me.