Even the rocks will cry out in praise
Like all things with hope it begins with a seed
Innocent rose so filled with greed
Taking from all that which surrounds
It steals what it can from humble grounds
It brings forth in season and soon it will come
It will open its pedals and begin to blossom
Yet boastful it waits concealed up inside
To display it's beauty, its innocent pride
Spring comes forth and it's glory is shown
Yet amongst other flowers this one is known
With its striking shade so brilliant and kind
Hidden daggers it wears that all soon will find
And to it's surprise it's limbs soon look dull
It lived it's life, it lived it in full
But soon it will die it will join in the ground
It finds these things all too profound
So years pass they come and they go
And if there is one thing this rose has come to know
As it is buried. As it has died
There must be a constant to its frail life
There must be a Gardener who doesn't grow old
Who owns all the seeds, His glory is told
For to one rose these things are profound
There is a creator who gives more than the ground