A rose is a rose.
A thorn is a thorn
and both belong together.
A rose is delicate.
A thorn is sharp
and both have things to weather.
And weather they must
in order to survive
nor neither will stay alive.
And so in our lives
we are the same.
To feel the good we must accept the pain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem