Rose.

She grows so vibrantly there, soft and sweet.

You know her beauty, so you plan to cut her by the stem,

And to strip her of her thorns.

It never mattered to you why she had them,

I bet it never even occurred to you,

That they were grown to stop what you'll eagerly do.

You want to wrap her with paper,

Hide any part you don't find appealing.

You will sell her out to whoever you please.

And it's the same if you won't,

Because either way, when she withers

She will be thrown away.

However, for now, she grows.

Vibrant, soft, and sweet.

While I pray she falls in love with a gardener,

Not a florist.