A rose, early
in the garden, Is, now, totally hidden In her own spine Wished,
fearfully, by her…
Wished by her who wants To avoid the
bee’s stings; Wished by her who wants To avoid humming-birds’
They that even know How she’s going on… If
she is damaged, By her petals taken out By them, even
without Any malice desires.
The sun rises and lights But
the flower can see nothing. She takes a few sun baths, Even if
there are few bugs Disturb, tease or hurt her.
everyday it’s goes on… The sun rises… And rose doesn’t
see anything… Due to the spines used by her And for her own
confinement… They are her weapon to prevent Any bite of any
insects Or even kisses can cure her.
We look at the
rose… We don’t know If the spines will be taking … We
don’t know If she will see the sunrise comes… We don’t
know If she will find bugs or eagles That can plant her
life She wants to create and live.