Roses smell nice while fresh
It doesn’t matter how nicely
They were picked, chopped or broken
It’s smell might be awful
It all depends with who…
Gives it, receives it and where.
White roses, red roses both knows
What pain is, where love flows
Tears shower them when they pleas
The word ‘please’ doesn’t shock them at least
For Valentine’s leads to their slaughter
Laughter and pleasure means sorrow.
Graveyards is where they sulk
Sacrificing the beautiful roses
To wilt in the sun and peal in cold
As they mourn their loved ones
More and more of red roses are mowed
As long as love keeps man mourning.
Most adorable of all flowers
The others would bow and thaw
For a choice it is and has ever been
To a human being since they had feelings
Involving the poor plant into their plans
Of togetherness and kisses pinching the red petals.
In whatever colour we are
We rise as roses for peace
For centuries we haven’t seen any happiness
We love man as others do… but why choose us over them
We would love them to let us be plants
As others and never have us in their plans.
They always hurt us to please themselves.