The Rose

March 9, 2009
a flower
with abhorrence
inured to the cold
she grows in the white, fresh snow
speckled with black ink dots
that shimmer under the sun
she tries to emulate
the other flowers
and wither with the cold
but she is too strong
and sucks in the ink
deep into her roots
though she is not unmarred
for her petals
are stained black
with misery
and pain

so acquainted with distress
she is,
that the sun
must instill his rays of light upon her
day after day
and the rain pours onto her
trying to cleanse her from the ink
she feels relief from the warmth of the sun
and the cool rain drops
her battered soul is replenished
with love, understanding, and care
no longer is she hopeless, anguished, wretched, depressed, hurting
she becomes alluring, graceful, stunning, angelic, radiant
and she begins to grow
into a beautiful rose bush
that brushes the sky
with her grateful beauty

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