No matter how carefully I hold you, you still prick.
But your very beauty is brought out best;
Only when you are felt, fully.
So pretty, lost in the prettiness of your petals, layered one after the other,
I touch you with blithe disregard-
Forgetting your quality of pricking;
And yes, I hiss in pain.
Is it the anger you want to vent out,
Because we don't let you be, and pluck you?
You just do not know, dear 'rose',
You add beauty to us, or even lend it to us in full,
In return, you give us that 'prick';
Just so you are remembered...