worry too much
About growing this rose
"Will it bloom?... " I wonder
"Under its storming foes?

"What will it take?" I ask
"To grow that precious seed?"
"For it to grow and rise?"
I know the answer, "it's the God that I heed."

Stop smothering it in the filth
Of your own despair
Bath instead, in the light
For the more you force it, the more scars you bare.