if i were a botanical
i wouldn't be a rose
perhaps a surprise
bearing in mind my thorns
the difference is the gray, really
you'll find me wilting in its' misty dew
almost as if i've forgotten
the edict of a proper bloom
roses do not grapple with this
simply sprouting vivid hues
i fear my skin blanches
while comparing what we do
one consolation perhaps
(although i'll never be so sweet)
at least my scent remains verifiably
despite the names i keep