The Rose

Soft petals, rough edges,
Grows hidden in the hedges
They remove the thorns
From when we are born.
Grow sweetly and cause 
no harm,
My Darling 

But thorns do grow,
Prick the ones we love so
We must bleed for things we love,
My Darling.

But bright colours and alluring aromas may
be deceiving,
Be sure to hold on carefully and beware of thorns,
My Darling.