The rose wept bitter tears when the thorn pricked hard the eager fingers that plucked her from the bush, She imagined it was her lover's. Most upset she kissed oozing drops of blood dry, and wept, not realizing the thorn's anger was directed to the irresponsible aggressor, who has only selfish motives. The thorn meant to protect her, while trying in vein to hold back his tears that, for others looked like dew drops gleaming in pain.
Once snatched from the lap of the bush she hardly would last a day or two, then would be left to rot turn to dust and vanish in a rowdy wind.