Pricking Thorns

Happy were the roses pricking themselves smeared by a red scent which showed what they felt. 

Thorns of grey kept knaves away but did the same thing with an essence of dismay. 

In the same soil were they grounded with their joy and happiness still kept shrouded. 

The petals found a place in a decorated case leaving behind a barren ground which no one would ever gaze. 

Sturdy were the weakened roots waiting to decay until the sound of the roaring storm blew all the good hopes away. 

The petals grew weary with their cheeks turning blue thinking very softly what the pricking thorns would do! 

Drops of dew wetted the ground where the friends of the same soil slept making no sound.