Petals and Prickles

Crimson velvet, soft and sweet, Unfurls its petals, warm and complete. A fragrant whisper on the breeze, A symphony of colors, pleasing to appease. But beneath the silken touch, a glint, A prickling promise, sharp and distinct. Emerald barbs, a hidden threat, Where beauty and danger closely met. The thorn, a whisper on the wind, Of pain to come, a truth unkind. Blindly we reach, for beauty's call, Unaware of the impending fall. For thorns are guardians, fierce and bold, Protecting what they hold. A reminder whispered, soft and low, True beauty often comes with woe. So let us gaze with mindful eyes, And see the thorns beneath the skies. For even beauty, sharp and bright, Holds darkness, hidden from the light. But still, we reach, with trembling hands, To grasp the rose, across the land. For even with the prickling sting, The rose's fragrance joy can bring. So let us learn, from thorns and bloom, That beauty's touch may pierce the gloom. With a cautious heart and knowing hand, We pluck the rose, across the land. And though the thorns may leave their mark, The rose's beauty lights the dark. For in the dance of pain and grace, We find the strength to take our place.