The Rose

The Rose

Standing by its lonesome self,
The sweet smelling rose,

It brightens my day.

Warming me like hot chocolate,

Taken on a cold winter night.

Its beauty clearly shown and defined,

Its thorns carefully hidden.

For every rose does have its thorn,

With this one no exception.

But give me rose,

And give me thorn,

For I care to admire its beauty.

I shall take the prick from thorn,

And take in beauty too.

So that perhaps I maybe like that rose,

And be admired for my beauty,

And not for my thorns.

The beauty of the rose,

Unparalleled by any,

For no flower can compare,

To the beauty of the rose.