White rose,
of the sweetest kind.
The perfumey smell can hold u in a bind.
How such a delicate thing,
has such terrible, thorny things.
One prick of these terrible things,
can make your hatred sing.
Such rich, crimson color,
that of its cousins red.
The salty taste as u lick your thumb,
to ease the wounds pain.
But as soon as you may stop,
it just comes back agian.
You begin to feel sorry,
for such a beautiful thing,
to bear such painful things.
But such is the life of the white rose. |
