Common is the wall of thorns in his des'late world.
But nothing could compare to what the Raven saw one night.
Prickly and green it stood against the wind that twirled.
The monotone world was no longer so dark, airtight.
The Raven had an urge to protect the gift he had.
The Raven never flew away nor came back the next week.
The emerald plant budded with petals painted dawn.
Soft and light, no matter day or night was the rose.
The Raven was never confuddled, yet he scratched his beak.
As he protects it, he knows he loves the rose as spring to a fawn