The petals start to fall,
From all the new starts.
They slowly wilt away.
Leaving behind only remains.
Broken promises, black scars.
Doesn’t seem like it’ll get far.
Yet it started to grow,
But with it so did the thorns.
Its beauty so calling,
Still, so dangerous to touch.
It doesn’t care for much.
The thorns got so bad.
It seemed, like it was all the small rose had.
At first sight it might look sad.
But its ravishing beauty, could drive you mad.
The small rose almost let it all go,
Then the rain passed and the sun started to show
And she knew, it was her destiny to grow.