The Roses Thorns

Her dress is of waxy red,

The sharp thorny hand

I hold on too through pain.

Beauty I see in her

Even when she denies.

She is close to me,

Through the joys,

She might give,

Is it worth it?

Is it worth the pain?

I ask this to myself,

But still I hold on,

Looking for a way

To hold without pain

But with the joys still in reach.

Is that possible with

The thorns there?

Why do I hold on?

Why don’t I let her go?

Is it because of all the joy?

The joy we together shared?

She is dear to me

As she says I am to her.

But the thorns hurt

And I still hold on,

Savoring every moment of joy.

Through every time

Her colors change,

When her thorns

Aren’t as sharp or,

Sharp as knives,

I still love the rose.