roses revisited

the roses have withered, faded into dust
never to return, borne by the gust
harsh winter ended, warm spring has returned
sowing new seeds that were always yearned

suddenly appeared a thorn, pricked your fingers
the beauty disappeared, yet the pain lingers
and it isn’t just one, but an entire bed
your soft rosy hands are yet again red

bury it deep, but always in your garden they lie
toss it over the fence, suffer your neighbour’s cry
grow all you want, they’ll inherit it too
getting rid of then all, the chances are few

learn to live with it, or get surprised every time
blame yourself for the self afflicted crime
either ways, it lives until you die
your bed may be of thorns, but you can still fly

6.1.25