A silver rose I once saw,
Growing in the moor.
This rose reflected moonlight
And in it's beauty I felt spite.
Why is a rose more elegant than me?
But I could not see what I needed to see.
The next day,I saw that same rose,
Trapped in a cage of thorns coming up to my nose.
I camped out and saw a full moon,
What I did not know would change me soon.
When the moon shone of the cage of thorns,
I thought that the moonlight would be torn.
I was wrong,it found it way through,
sparking on the late evening dew.
The silver rose was still in tact,
that was fact.
Moonlight shone in and the rose shone,
refecting the light off the pond.
I realised something,I was the thorns,
choking the real beauty.
The next dawn,the rose still held the moonlight in it's curves,
True beauty comes when it's time to shine.
But if we make us ugly on the inside,
We might aswell start to hide.
That rose is special,
That silver rose is worth more than mortal sunshine.
Moonlight is cool and immortal,
in lives forever in our mind...