Innocent rose so filled with greed

Taking from all that which surrounds

It steals what it can from humble grounds

 

It brings forth in season and soon it will come

It will open its pedals and begin to blossom

Yet boastful it waits concealed up inside

To display it's beauty, its innocent pride

 

Spring comes forth and it's glory is shown

Yet amongst other flowers this one is known

With its striking shade so brilliant and kind

Hidden daggers it wears that all soon will find

 

And to it's surprise it's limbs soon look dull 

It lived it's life, it lived it in full

But soon it will die it will join in the ground

It finds these things all too profound

 

So years pass they come and they go

And if there is one thing this rose has come to know

As it is buried. As it has died

There must be a constant to its frail life

 

There must be a Gardener who doesn't grow old 

Who owns all the seeds, His glory is told 

For to one rose these things are profound 

There is a creator who gives more than the ground