Roses

Roses grow from the cold and dark soil

Before the world has a chance to spoil

Some has thorns to protect it from danger

Try to break it, but it grows back prettier

When they wither in cold, they seek cover

Staying in the dark, waiting for summer

Until it's safe to pop-up in the warm sun

Someday there won't be a thing to hide from

Don't judge a rose on its number of thorns

It's a sign of the battle and defeated storms

Every rose has its own color, stalk, and glow

In the mighty wind they sway with their flow