Another creature in this world,
But born on fixed land,
Surrounded with colourful petals curled,
My name in Rose and everyone understands.
Not just a flower, have great thrust in me,
Some name me after their angel and some after a colour,
But at times I am called mean,
Because for some, I am an example of danger.
I might be beautiful, but still avoided,
Born with thorns on my body to bleed clueless fingers,
For my petals that’s only when I am needed,
And my head is executed for the decorators.
I am mostly famous for the colour red,
I take forms of yellow, pink and pure white,
Red is the colour of blood and colour of dead,
And when I bloom, I am the most bright.
I am the great highlight of romance,
For lovers, I am embraced
But my existence is truly valued
By the ones who appreciates.
In isolation I wait for ages to bloom
And when time calls, I stretch out my petals of joy
I am given a few days to live
To experience life and enjoy my stay.
I am loved and might be hated
Because my thorns hurt little fingers
But I symbolize the reality
Behind every beauty, there lies a painful truth.