Red Roses,
Thoughts of many thorns.
Loss of focus,
From the stinging. Dearly it burns.

Valley's bed,
Filled out of my Heart with only red.
Fallen Hearts and roses in Winter's breath, down on the ground to shed.
No life is spared.

Spare the bore
From the ongoing gore,
Of a plant being as is from once a spore.

Red Roses of a field,
Thorns of Heart not keen to yield.
This Valley feels like a battlefield.

Battling the Sun's scorching heat,
We few can not retreat.
I fall so **** weak,
Barely can speak.

Oooooh

Red Roses I fail to say
Of a common smell in the air of decay.
Losing another Heart each and every single day.
Cold winters of an early May.