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Life is a Rose
January 8, 2015
Wandering one day
In my garden of distress;
I found some roses,
Delicate and pressed.
Thought of them my life,
Softness all appear;
With skewers under them,
Effaced all of my cheers.
Pricked my hand
And blood then felled;
Realized the strength..
Of my life that tells:
Gloomy is my existence,
Painful and morbid..
Will throb the brigand hard
And forevr he'll forbid.
I am like a rose..
Not red or black or white
But melancholy is my prose
And that wont end in might!
© Taylor S., Deltona, FL
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