Some say when I was born, I looked
just like a rose. With a twinkle in
my eyes from deep with in, my heart
it glows.
But, everybody knows, a rose is born
with, blood stained color, and is so
sensitive to grow.
Just one freeze or bump,
it shrivels and hides from,
Nature, and all nature can throw.
When picked, if not careful,
its thorns, can prick. And the
rose cry's, and withers more.
Carrying the stains she bore.
Everyone knows each autumn,
A rose can't survive the winters
call. So she must be gently tucked
in and wrapped in blankets. If
she were to survive at all. But,
sometimes she wonders if by spring,
all her petals will fall.. Sometimes
she wishes she wouldn't make the
spring, to blossom..For it's forest, ball.
Sometimes she thinks she won't survive,
if one more storm, picks up and does brawl.
Thank You! ! ! Jez, For Such A Beautifully Kind And Thoughtful Reply! ! ! ! ! Your Poetry, Like The Oceans Tide! ! ! ! ! Enchants Those Who Come By! ! ! ! ! Thank You Again Ever So Much! ! ! ! ! Ever So Many Blessings! ! ! ! ! And Smiles! ! ! ! ! :)
I think this rose is a lot stronger than you suspect. You've survived the past storms, you will endure the storms on their way now. The roses around my church seem to thrive in late fall and winter! Beautiful reds and pinks blooming large and bold with snow on the ground. I guess some roses want to greet Christmas Day come cold or ice or snow! ! ! I like how you've handled this topic. Well done!
Thank You! Susan, For Your Ever So Kind Reply! And Such Thoughtfulness! Love Your Beautiful Beautiful Poetry! ! ! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderfully beautiful it took my mind away from my troubles Bravo!