Snarled deep in thorns,
A rose grows unchecked,
The lone beauty amidst a sea of spite.
The rose grows unawares,
Of one who watches it eagerly.
But not to cut it down.
But for it to set him free.
Because his heart is a prison,
It keeps his feelings locked away.
Until he decided,
To stop and smell the flowers yesterday,
Lilies, oh they bored him, as his mother had them at home,
And the daisies simply annoyed him,
Oh how he wished to find a rose.
And as he wandered the meadow, and came upon the snarl of thorns,
The rose called out quietly with it's vibrant red hue,
As he spotted the rose,
he knew he was free,
Amidst that grassy sea,
So he reached for the rose, lost his arm in the thorns,
And his skin ripped open from their scorn,
but he held the rose and pulled it free from the thorns,
He shook with joy, his rose found.
And to that rose he was henceforth bound.