The Rose

I was born a beautiful flower
Up my stem a mouse climbed
To inhale my scent and sleep
In the centre of my rose bud
Alas, the raven knows of no
Beauty I was an innocent ruse
Stealing the beauty of sleep
And in my feeling of freshness
Self-indulgent caressing words
I saw nothing untoward
I should have seen.    
We roses are too beautiful
To be political revolutionary
A rose uproar in Portugal
But it was quickly strangled
By social democracy