The rose has numerous petals

And many thorns

Twenty – seven and twelve

Into the past we will delve

A time where flowers were neatly pressed

And displayed on a shelve

As time passes we all get old

And as time passes for a rose

It is no longer praised more than gold

Each passing day

A petal gives way

To the wind and it falls

And the thorns cause shouting calls

Someone gets pinched and bleeds

When someone speaks no one heeds

They do not listen to advice

They consider it to be as small as a grain of rice

The thorns do dull

As does our pain

And the brain does lull

And our hearts in love

No more knowledge do they gain

Because a rose has numerous petals

And many thorns

And love has much too many revels

And our hearts cease beating from pain

As if they were stabbed by a bulls sharp, pointed, horns