I pricked my finger
for the hundreth time today
(or so it seems),
planting rose bushes
that never seem to thrive.
What is it about that velvet bud
opening passion colored petals to the sun?
What is it about me
that keeps planting?
When blood drops to the ground,
or smears over milky flesh,
why do I still hunger
for the beauty of the rose?




Comments: 18
Good job!
I love roses too
Myke