The Thorns Hurt

The Thorns Hurt

In gardens lush where beauty lies,

A tender rose begins to rise,

Its petals soft, a crimson hue,

Yet whispers tell of trials too.

Beneath the sun’s caressing light,

It sways and dances, pure delight,

But hidden deep within its grace,

The thorns lay bare, a fierce embrace.

For every bloom that draws a gaze,

There’s pain entwined in nature’s ways,

A prick, a sting, though fleeting fast,

The thorns remind us of the past.

In love, as in the garden's heart,

We cherish beauty, play our part,

Yet know beneath the surface sheen,

The wounds that lie, the scars unseen.

So let us hold the rose with care,

Embrace its flaws, the pain we share,

For in the thorns, we come to see,

The strength in love, the cost of thee.

In every petal soft and bright,

Resilience blooms, a heart in flight,

And though the thorns may draw their blood,

The rose stands tall, a tale of love