The rose that is weak and witheredIt falls and sulks and shrinksAfter rain, it drags itself to the sunAnd the rose flourishes vibrantly  The rose that returns every yearIt has been through dark, harsh weatherIt survives the many beasts who try to tear it downAnnually, the rose is born again  The rose with many thornsIt’s prickly, barbed, and roughThis rose has many painful flawsBut flaunts the ruby red beauty above  The rose came from a single seedGrew from a baby stemThrived from the many obstaclesAnd bloomed into a masterpiece painted by itself