The Prickly Rose

What a beauty. 

This pretty pink rose. 

How pretty and pink but just up to the tips of her flowering lips. 

She beckons.

She calls. 

Dew drops from her eyes fall. 

You can remember their sweet taste.

You can remember her sweet smell, too, 

when she opens herself up to the sun's rays

as she lay 

in her pretty little flower bed. 

What a pretty picture of her always in your head. 

Oh, you can remember her everything. 

Oh, you can remember distinctly her prickles that can bring such pain. 

Such a pretty pink rose just up to her tips that are shaded deeper and darker and go straight to your head. 

Her tips being a deep dark shade of red. 

Seeing her was like sweet wine to your brain. 

Oh, what a pretty pink rose with a deeper shade of red on her tips. 

Sometimes you think of her when it is cold. 

When the snow is on the ground. 

You remember how the sun made her 

come

And

Open up. 

It was like magic. 

That pretty pink rose must have been made by a witch. 

Such a pretty pink rose just up her tips.