I am the daughter of the rose
Graced with a beautiful life
Delicate are my petals
Gently they begin to fall
The teardrop of the rose
She cries for her daughter
She cries for her soul
She is a lamb gone to slaughter
One of life’s thorns was aimed at her
Thorn and his army, fight in vigor
Eagerly taking over the rose
Leaving no survivor
Feeding on her leaves
Pestilent disease
Life was but a season
Beautiful blooms in her youth
Slowly wilting away
If only she sought a higher power
She might still be here today
by Renee Robinson