War Of Roses Poem by Ima Ryma

A war o'er the garden arose
'Twixt and 'tween roses, red and white.
Back and forth be sharpened thorn throws.
The bouquets clashed in test of might.
Exactly when the war did start
None of the flowers seemed to know,
As rose was ripping rose apart,
With petals flying to and fro.
Most likely some sort of dispute
On which color had more power.
An all out war had taken root,
Stemming from egos aflower.

So much innocent blood be shed
From warring roses, white and red.