Dave Ben'Dafe

‘Rounded by thickets, thorns 'n' briars,
Ev’ryone thought He'd choke before He could bud.
Beset by weeds and ruffled by the coarse earth,
He fought bravely the battles of survival.
Though on His tender shoots the pest fed.
He sprout'd still, A Rose Amidst The Thorns.

Bruised 'n' battered from all sides,
It bled from its crimson hides.
‘Twas like a cursed reed,
Whose frail stem is shaken by ev’ry gush of wind,
With an inferior endowment by nature gifted
A Rose Amidst The Thorns.

Though the sun may cause Him to wither,
The rain refreshes His petals.
Then His perfume attract’d from afar,
As His petals enchants ev’ry gaze on it.
In court gardens ‘n’ royal tables He adores,
A gift to woo the hearts of princesses ‘n’ seduce queens.

My Rose Amidst The Thorns!
Who could have thought You’ll bloom?
Who could’ve thought You’ll survive?
Not a medium or a seer.
But You blossom’d though,
A Rose Amidst The Thorns!