If someone offered you a burnt rose you would scrunch your nose up for sure
It would be frail,weak and lack so much allure
It would be black and crumble between your fingers
You would cringe and the hurt would linger
Who wants a burnt rose lost of colour or a pleasurable sight
No one,you give someone that out of sheer spite
So I ask again,who wants a burnt rose that will crumple with the wind?
That the bees stray away from and the birds refuse to sing.
Mother nature forgot that rose as fire consumed it
Everyone forgot as the rose swiftly lit.