~Colored Tree~
Black and white roses,
Up on a tree.
Which one will fall?
Lets watch and see.
White triumphs black.
It's their ruling days.
But their thorns get cut.
They no longer get their way.
More roses grow.
Too many to count.
The white roses fade.
No longer the larger amount.
There are red and brown roses.
Yellow roses too.
Little roses with spots.
And some covered with dew.
But the roses wont stop growing.
They are overcrowding the tree.
They need some guidance.
Something to set them free.
So they join in their petals.
To create one large rose.
Every rose gets a place.
Every rose gets a home.
Though all the roses,
Get along better than before.
Some still hate the others.
And have a heart full of thorns.
We the family of roses,
Need to accept.
We all are equally precious.
Even if we have different scents.
(Authors Note: What did this poem mean to you? Tell me what you thought it meant. Thanks. :D)