Roses

The petals of the dashing scenes,

The thorns do show the best of queens,

The stems, thick and full of water,

Do hold on and show their daughter,

Each one blooms to yet another,

Each thrilling beauty just the mother,

The petals die and fall at last,

Waiting sadly to sit in grass,

No more beauty,

No more friends

Gorgeous ‘til the very end,

No more predators,

Nor more foes,

No one remembers,

A fallen rose.