Crushed

Beauty and grace

Falls on its face

Onto the pavement

Free now from enslavement

The deep scarlet flower

Complexion now sour

Stepped on and crushed

Its petals now blushed

Bruised and crippled

The rose now is stippled

Injured beyond repair

Much to all despair

Previously plucked from its pink home

Now lain on grey, poured stone

Wilted by force

No room for remorse

A rose may have thorns

But they are free from scorn

To be pricked is not nefarious

But the owner could have cared less

A prick from a rose

Is not to be opposed

Not to be left

Not to be crushed

A rose’s prick

Means love shall stick

Do not neglect it

You will get infected