If someone offered you a burnt rose you would scrunch your nose up for sure

It would be frail,weak and lack so much allure

It would be black and crumble between your fingers

You would cringe and the hurt would linger

Who wants a burnt rose lost of colour or a pleasurable sight

No one,you give someone that out of sheer spite

So I ask again,who wants a burnt rose that will crumple with the wind?

That the bees stray away from and the birds refuse to sing.

Mother nature forgot that rose as fire consumed it

Everyone forgot as the rose swiftly lit.