Twisting their way up the old metal frame <br />In the garden at the back of our place <br />The wild rose meets up with the cultivated one <br />Each granting the other-one space <br /> <br />One is red, deep red-coloured, red like blood <br />The other is pink and white like skin <br />One is large and imposing like a goddess <br />The other is curled up and lies open like a fin <br /> <br />One has sharp thorns that bite and tear the skin <br />The other seems harmless tranquil in its beauty <br />Butterflies visit and hover around then go <br />As if they know that beauty will decay<br /><br />James Hart<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-roses-8/
