The Rose

The Rose
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

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