A rose stands proudly in the sun
one
With petals stretching from the center
one, two, three, four, five
Leaves reaching to the sky
one, two
And thorns yearning to stab
one, two three
That flower stands
Born from the struggles
That are to many to count.
It has been starved of sunlight,
Parched of fresh water.
The rose has wilted than grown,
wilted then grown,
Again and again.
It has recovered from one obstacle
Only to be stopped by another.
The rose will stand.
It is strong.
But the struggles will ALWAYS be there
To infinity and beyond,
Will always be too many
Too many to count.