I, fooled again, in numbèd tears did cry:
"Nipped again in the bud, the rose has ceased to inquire why!
The world intent on stifling her in the blossom of her life,
Does commit a loathsome sin, applying its scornful knife!
As life is urging her to bloom with love and tenderness,
Still alone she cannot budge, without the warmth of Sun's caress.
Yet none will stay with her and smile upon her petals
To shower the warmth she needs within to coax her heart to settle
Though closed up and worn, she as yet may seem,
Beneath the torn up layer lies a gentle, youthful gleam.
Yet the glory of this love, neither world nor rose shall know
For, alas, her outer petals lack that polished, vinyl glow!"
But then there came a boy, far too young to have known
Or perhaps a wise old man, to whom the truth was shown:
"Do not throw away the rose, though outwardly worn
For beneath those petals beauty is borne
Faith begets trust and trust is the womb
And therein the rose shall bloom!"
