The rose...

Once there was a blossom
in a greenhouse much alive
where life seemed to thrive
but was naively playing possum

started as a bud in pure white
in that sunlit creche it used to hover
peering shyly from its green cover
quivering with curiosity and delight

staring at the clouds fading yonder
soon the time came to be mellow
and the bud bloomed bright yellow
why the bees sing it used to wonder

morning came with greeting dew
butterflies dancing averted to think
made it smile in a healthy pink
rustling away the time flew

the breeze spread a scent of change
with it's furnace of passion fed
the rose turned into a fiery red
unaware it was that life's strange

youth had come with a virtue ominous
and all one saw was that thorn
this made it stand much forlorn
amid primroses and lilies so pompous

sent hurtling into an abyss of gloom
so plagued by this public slack
it settled in a ravenous black
starkly stood serenading for doom

the gardener pitying this plight
cut and shifted it to a cistern
to place it in his moonlit tavern
here it found peace in the night.