The Rose With Thorns

The Rose with Thorns by George’s Girl

In gardens where the twilight weaves,

A rose blooms soft, yet subtly grieves,

Her petals, tender, whisper sweet,

But hidden 'neath, sharp thorns entreat.

In velvet dusk, the lovers meet,

With hearts entwined, their pulses beat,

Yet shadows linger, doubts take flight,

For love, though pure, bears hidden blight.

A glance, a touch, ignites the flame,

Yet fear, like thorns, can stake a claim,

For every joy that love bestows,

There lies the price—a heart that knows.

Oh, sweet enchantress, fairest flower,

Your beauty shines in twilight's hour,

But hark! The prick of thorny plight,

A tender kiss may yield to fright.

In passion's dance, they sway and sing,

Yet know the ache that thorns can bring,

For love, though glorious, can bleed,

In joy's embrace, there lies a need.

So let us cherish both the bloom,

And honour thorns that loom with gloom,

For every rose that graces heart,

Bears testament to love's fine art.

In gardens where the shadows play,

Two souls entwine, come what may,

For every thorn that pierces through,

Is but a mark of love’s true hue.

Thus, hold me close, my dearest friend,

Through thorny paths, our love shall wend,

In every trial, let us find, true romance

Just please let us take the chance