“Why do roses have thorns?”

My child asked me with eyes of wonder. 

I looked on in curiosity but had not yet answered before came a roll of thunder. 

Picking up my gown I took his hand in mine, 

I wasn’t done with tending the garden but that would be fine. 

I needed to get us safe in the cottage where we may be warm and dry. 

Though as I looked back I noticed the little raindrops that came out of my boy’s eyes. 

“There now we are safe,” I decreed, looking out the window at the dark sky up above. 

Fixing my gaze back on him I knelt down, “Now tell me what troubles you my love.” 

“Mama, why do roses have thorns?” He asked me yet again. 

I wiped the small tears as I answered, “Well that’s just the way they are designed Glen.” 

“But they are so lovely and father would say that I shall get everything I desire for I am a boy,” 

“Well that’s what your father thought now he is six feet under,” I think but do not say for despite being the cause of his murder I am not that coy. 

Besides, even If I were, I would never say that to my child. 

For he is the only good thing to come out of that arranged marriage. The only love I took with me when I ran away to the wild. 

With a patient sigh I sat him down on my knee. 

Uncertain but willing to try I began,” My love please listen to me.” 

“What is it mama?” He looks up with those innocent eyes of a doese's. 

I said, “I’m going to tell you a secret that only belongs to the roses.” 

He nodded eagerly and I couldn't help but smile. 

I’m glad we are seated because this may take a while. 

“Roses are lovely yes this is true,”

 I began my tale, “But this does not mean they belong solely to you.” 

“Then who?” Glen asked me with an arched brow. 

“They belong to nobody, they simply belong to the here and now.” 

With a tilt of his head he asked, “Are they some kind of kings or dukes?” 

I laughed at the consideration, “Though they may think they do, the thorns provide the rose’s rebuke.” 

“Are the thorns like swords mama?” He had decidedly concluded. 

I gave a light nod, “In ways yes, I suppose so, I mean no one ever wants to be uprooted.” 

“What do you mean?” He asked with eyes as wide as at Rome. 

I explain. “Well, to take a flower from its garden is like taking it away from home.” 

“I won’t let that happen!” He proclaimed puffing out his chest in a heroic pose. 

“Is that so?” I asked but couldn't help but chuckle at the image, My son, the protector of the rose. 

“Yes It is. I will make sure no one is taken away from their home, I will be a hero and do what I must do.” 

“Though I am sure they’ll appreciate the sentiment bug,” I smiled, “I don’t think they’ll need you too.” 

He looked up at me and I informed, “Roses have thorns because they are their own defenders.” 

A simple nod and I continued, “They are lovely and sweet but they fight back and they do not easily surrender.” 

“Can I still do my part in protecting them?” 

I smiled and gave him an assuring nod, “Of course you can My sweet growing gem.” 

“Mama?” He asked softly after a beat of silence and looked up at me, his head resting atop my chest. 

“Yes?” I hummed knowing full well we are both in need of a bit of rest. 

“I like this home better than our last.” He whispered in a voice filled with sleep, “Can we stay here?” 

I smile softly, “For as long as your heart desires my dear.” 

A promise I intend to keep. 

For these roots already ran deep.