The Bleeding Thorn
Golden sunlight rarely shone
Upon that solitary thorn;
Red velvet petals are all gone,
They wilted as soon as they were born.
Black storm clouds gathered o’erhead
And a brooding ambiance did pervade
Contributing to a sense of dread
As leaves turned a putrid, sickly shade.
The hurt, the pain, each purple bruise
Was observed by that sable spike;
The young girl’s life full of abuse
Which was tossed into a muddy dyke.
Along that secluded roadside
A scarlet stain spoils the ground -
Where once stood a rose with pride
Now an ugly, bleeding thorn is found.
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