You should never listen to roses,
Let alone gaze, smell or touch them.
Gaze it once,
You will never stop thinking of it’s fine features,
Smell its fragrant scent,
And you will never want it to fade.
Touch it,
And its little thorns will ***** your palms,
Leaving none but a crimson mess.

Although I gave it time,
Time wasn’t the matter,
I never learned,
I never did,
That a rose is just a flower.

So I held it and I soothed it,
I praised it and I spoiled it,
For now I am confused,
Or have I been fooled?
Of its fine beauty,
And its elegant ways,

Shall I dig the truth?
Or shall I let it be?
Though I have no clue,
Of what I should do,

One thing is certain,
The rose is as it is,
Who longs for no companion.
Until it needs someone the most.