My Black Rose Of Love Poem by Aditya Sakariya

I had cared for it,
I provided it the best of time.
I had showered all that was mine,
Why, oh why did I then do this?

Gentle, kind and honest, I should have been,
And now the rains falling blame me,
So does the wet soil beneath, leaving me with no glee.
How come I ever heard its sorrow and pain?

I know it was full of thorns,
And hurt me whenever I touched it.
But, it was rare and precious, I admit,
This happened to me; it was beautiful.

Why did I not think before I plucked,
And scattered every petal?
With no mettle it leaves me.
Grief fills me up as lower the wreath,
Over my black rose of love.