It's a vicious circle of love and hate,
Me and you, you and me,
Cutting the thorns off around stem,
The rose looks beautiful,
Set next to me, all the color,
Nothing detracts from it,
But it's so hard to get them all,
The sheers are quite wonderful,
An extension, just like your hand,
Careful watch, gliding effortlessly,
Following cues is easy, fact of life,
Before we be ourselves let's take one
Moment to try to think of something
Besides how happy we would be, right.
It's a thin line between masculine control
And making a women your prized treasure,
Like that rose if he takes more snips,
He can cut it down to "perfect measure,"
Have it to go with his set of trophies,
Whatever is the current prickly danger?
Fix it up, face the facts, your reputation flawed!
Until this rose is no longer so prickly sharp,
Makes it easy for me to have your cake and eat it,
In between your being *yourself and odd.
