The gardener tends to his plants with love and devotion
From the daisies to the tulips and the hydrangeas in rows
But one flower he gives the most attention,
Was the beautiful, blood red, prickly rose
Every day the gardener cared for the flower,
Savoring the sight with his eyes and the scent with the nose
Yet when he goes to touch it, however,
It's thorns would cut him and from the wound, blood rose
Sometimes to himself, he wondered
Why something he loved so much
Would oppose him so violently
And deny his touch
Even as he asked himself, he knew the flower didn't know why
But he knew he had chose
He would always love, till the day he'd die
His beautiful, blood red, prickly rose
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 11:01 AM UTC
The gardener tends to his plants with love and devotion
From the daisies to the tulips and the hydrangeas in rows
But one flower he gives the most attention,
Was the beautiful, blood red, prickly rose
Every day the gardener cared for the flower,
Savoring the sight with his eyes and the scent with the nose
Yet when he goes to touch it, however,
It's thorns would cut him and from the wound, blood rose
Sometimes to himself, he wondered
Why something he loved so much
Would oppose him so violently
And deny his touch
Even as he asked himself, he knew the flower didn't know why
But he knew he had chose
He would always love, till the day he'd die
His beautiful, blood red, prickly rose
