A rose who rose above the rest
Not proud, nor made to detest
High in the sky, she goes up
To the sun like a tulip or buttercup
And I, so distant, built to be resilient
Shrouded by those with murderous intent
I among the weeds, bound by my deeds
But a thought of her had me feel as freed
And then did wend to me a friend
The kind whom to my wounds did tend
Saying, those with thorns tend to mourn
She stands above it all, not fearing the norms