Every rose is beautiful/

Or that’s what people say/

But a rose doesn’t bloom in a day/

Born a seed/

Beneath a scorching sun/

Life didn’t start with joy and fun/

Even as it grows/

Grass hoppers lick their lips/

And there is no means to avoid children’s grips/

A rose grows thorns first/

Because the world is cruel and brutal/

Without thorns even beauty is but futile/

It’s hard to enjoy/

Something that has trouble surviving/

But it’s easy to see beauty in something thriving/