The gardener tends to his plants with love and devotion From the daisies to the tulips and the hydrangeas in rows But one flower he gives the most attention, Was the beautiful, blood red, prickly rose
Every day the gardener cared for the flower, Savoring the sight with his eyes and the scent with the nose Yet when he goes to touch it, however, It's thorns would cut him and from the wound, blood rose
Sometimes to himself, he wondered Why something he loved so much Would oppose him so violently And deny his touch
Even as he asked himself, he knew the flower didn't know why But he knew he had chose He would always love, till the day he'd die His beautiful, blood red, prickly rose