I remember as a young girl, I used to dream
Dream of roses. How I admired the rich cherry gleam;
I had carried around a bouquet of white as the dove
But the milky petals formed a desire for love
When I grew older, the blank canvas unfurled
Pink, orange, yellow, and burgundy pearls
But I was not satisfied, for I had not met you
The roses were simply the wrong hue
The tips of the petals flamed into bold red, and I smiled
I had dreamed of touching the cardinal buds, since I was a child
But it never felt familiar, however I had loved it too much
That I never saw the thorns, I had yet to tighten my clutch
For days I admired those wine coloured flowers
They would sit in a vase, and I would stare for hours
However, when time came and I needed comfort, I held them close
Crying out; my skin had been pierced, right through my clothes
The thorns grew more and more each day
The petals had started to curl up and fade away
to ugly black and blue, falling at my feet
As I sat crying, not ready to admit defeat
I gathered the dead roses in my arms
How could I fall for its foolish charms?
As much as I hope, dream and pray,
Roses will never last forever and a day
