All the Roses Have Their Thorns, But That's Not Why They'Re Adored

Smell the roses, Smell their air Wonder what sweet sounds they'd share Sounds of summer, sounds of fall, Sounds so sweet, you'd pick them off Tasteful colors, Tasteless thorns A taste of iron in the blood they pour A taste of medicine, for ours they fall For their tasteful colors and vitality do warm A touch of love A touch of fear If roses could touch, how would they feel? Touched, through thorns adorned with a prick of blood Touched, by petals adored but picked for fun