A rose bloomed in my garden a solitary, pink rose. Solitary, but for the inimical companion the thorn.
my fingers twitched to pluck the rose for my only love…
my fingers stretched to embrace the sharp thorn… in a thorn prick of pain I withdrew… …. peeped into the colorful central core… and there I saw her angelic, smiling face, rosy lips, smooth red chins, a pair of blue iris, the tendril of tress curling on her dimpled chins
When a rose turns old petals fall but the rose bud remains and its beauty and fragrance leaves a lasting impression in our minds Sure the beauty and fragrance of a rose lasts but briefly but the rose garden goes
Rose blossoms in filth Love for lust begins in bliss Thorn accompanies Rose uncertainty is part of Love Rose looks beautiful when fresh Lover looks attractive at first sight Rose withers over a time Love turns bitter after some time