A rose, what is a rose?
Pure beauty to some
Harsh vanity to others.
But what is it really?
Why it's just a flower, some would see,
But it actually is true beauty,
Yet all the same, it is vanity,
The depiction of beauty so pretty
And beautiful in its smell so sweet.
But vain, thinking all love it
And it catches the eye of all it sees.
Yet it's also just a flower
It wilts and it dies.
Funny, how the thing associated with beauty
Shrivels up, and only in death do we see
The true nature of its vanity
The thorns of the rose
Like all of beauty.