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.