The Rose of Life

I love old-fashioned roses with sharp thorns That let you know that beauty has its pain: Red roses with the color of the heart, And petals soft and smooth as Chinese silk, With small brown daggers hiding underneath.

Love blossoms like a flower as it grows; But there are moments when the thorns of doubt Pierce with the sting of anguish and despair. And then I feel that from the Vine of Life I've plucked the painful beauty of a rose.