Between my fingers, I grasp a rose
with petals of diamond and leaves of emerald.
Fragile as glass and strong as stone,
Its beauty stands alone.

I hold it tightly and my fingers bleed,
dotting the ground with ruby seeds.
Perhaps they'll sprout and begin life anew
but they will be imperfect and crude,
Compared to the perfection that is in my hand
A diamond in the rough
A speck of stardust among a billion grains of sand.