Thorns
Red blood on my fingertips,
Only if it were not so perfect.
Something so beautiful,
Encircled by deadly horns.
Ready to defend,
Once it is born.
Sorrowful to the touch,
En guard, to a rose’s thorn.
Only if it were not so perfect.
Something so beautiful,
Encircled by deadly horns.
Ready to defend,
Once it is born.
Sorrowful to the touch,
En guard, to a rose’s thorn.