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