A beautiful rose in my garden did grow
A flower once dear to my heart
Attempting to save from the weeds that destroy
I have striven to keep it apart

But razor-sharp thorns from the stems that protrude
For the rose’s protection from harm
Pierced into my flesh to produce drops of blood
That flow from my hands and my arm.

It seemed to appear that the suffering rose
Struck out with a sharply honed knife,
Blindly mistaking the actions of love
As attempts for controlling its life.

The rose has now lost its once radiant glow
As it fades and is shrinking in size
Allowing the weeds to squeeze life from its form
As slowly it withers and dies.

The thorns that were piercing those hands that attempted
The pain of the rose’s to thwart
Have pierced and eternally left behind scars
On a damaged and still bleeding heart.