I'm the Ugly Brambly Bush

I’m the ugly brambly bush

I sit in the dead field

With all the dead grass

I’m surrounded by weeds

And no gardener dare tend me

 

I’m the ugly brambly bush

It’s uncertain everyone thinks

Whether I’m alive or just

Really, really dead

I sit here with my thorns for friends

 

I’m the ugly brambly bush

Sometimes when night falls

Upon my ugly dead field

A little bud will sprout

It’s a beautiful thought

 

And from that sprout a rose will grow

And when that rose blooms

It will be a sight for sore eyes

For this ugly brambly bush

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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