Roses

Frosted with ice the red lushes
Petals crisp with beauty.
A stroke of pleasure as the silky
Smooth texture runs across your skin,
Mixed with shutters of excitement
As the thorns prick the rough textures
Making you slightly bleed.
All adding to its beauty a rose is all she
Wanted to be.
Formed from a mother and given to another
The life is simple and short.
It grows, leaves, and enters the home to
Shine for a bit then starts its decay.
Even in death it remains beautiful for nothing
Can take that away.

Reviews

[forfila]

I like this, direct and true.
An odd meaning, that death is beautiful, but the way you put it, I do agree.

Nice.