I am a rose bush with perfectly shaped red roses.
My petals are soft with youth as I have just blossomed from the bud of my childhood.
I smile in the golden sunlight, stretch my leaves to soak it all in.
I want the knowledge the sun has to offer; for it sees all, and I see little.
And even though I am anchored by my strong roots, I still thirst for understanding of the world around me.
That is why flowers grow so tall; to see all they can of the world, and I am no exception to this rule.
My outer delicacy often fools the common passerby.
They are entranced by my brilliantly colored petals, and my sweet smelling perfume.
They believe me to be the common dainty flower that gives no objection to being picked, only to be thrown away in a few minutes and left to be trampled.
The deceived soul soon finds I have thorns.
They are sharp and bite without mercy.
I will not be used for a cheap gift or easy thrill.
I am more than that.
I am a rose.
And roses are the royalty of the flowerbed.
No matter how many times I am pruned back or bashed about in a storm I always come back, thorns, flowers, and all.