Wilted Rose

There's a rose outside,
It's beautiful and proud,
though when someone smells it it seems to hide,
the fragrance is so sweet, it's beauty oh so loud.

So why this rose pricks those who touch it,
I shall never know,
I see how wonderfully in my hand it would fit,
But I still turn around and go.

The rain begins to pour,
But proudly, beautifully, the rose still stands,
It's freedom it is for,
The rose, more beautiful than all those of other lands.

No matter what the cost,
Even if it has to stand alone,
It's true majesty won't be lost,
And the rose stands without a moan.

It's strength suprises those who see,
For the rose was only there to look pretty,
Who would have thought that rose would be,
The one with Hope for all to see.