By Don Ray Williams
The world is a flower garden, with flowers so thick.
There I found a sweet rose I wanted to pick.
Not just any flower could capture my senses,
Not an Orchid or Violet is as pretty as this is.
With my hand I reach down, this flower to pick,
But I drew back in pain as a thorn me did stick.
I drew back in pain, my hand burned just like fire,
But I still wanted this rose; the pain just increased my desire.
And with great care, I reached down and the rose I did grasp,
I had captured the beauty, I had it at last.
If one doesn’t give up, one usually succeeds,
I had found me a rose among only weeds.
© Don Ray Williams 12 22, 1986