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Roses

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet." – William Shakespeare

And sweet it is as sweet could be,
For under lovely petals pink,
You discover hearts of ink.
For thorns protrude from long green stems
Clawing and grabbing at your hem.
As tiny scratch and skin open
And let your blood flow free again.
You may not think that this could be
(Such a lovely flower thee)
But do not cease to recognize
The evil burning in some eyes.
For just as roses can smell so sweet
Their thorny fingers be so discrete,
That until you touch and see yourself bleed
Only then can you recede
And see that beauty can be linked
To thorns under lovely petals pink.



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