A everlonging rose

Scorched by fright

Beseech what is right

Blackened by hate

To only discriminate

What is right for the petal

Or for what is right for the flower

A flower spreads justice as a shower

Yet we dig up our own roots

Cut our own stem

Pluck our own petals

To only become dectrivores to our own flower

As nature sees fit it shall destroy

The petals that have withered away shall become dust

Yet without the withered whom will seek truth that ceases to rust