Living life is like walking in a rush Bush.
Somedays are made with roses and sweet fragrance,
Filled with Joy and laughter.
Somedays we trample over the torns,
Leaving us heartbroken and sad.
Most days are made up of both,
Though the torns rip you
There are some Roses to heal you.
Roses or torns, we were made strong enough to walk on both.
As people say, "life is not a bed of Rose's."
— The End —