A baby Rose took bloom one day and lifted her face to the sun, a sun, so beautiful in its rays, alit upon her blooming bud

It slowly opened and awed the bushes in her little world, but magically more than that, her song was pure and sure

She was young, but not for long and grew many sharpened thorns, she laughed and sang and raised her face and was all around adored

Then one day she matured and stronger weeds pushed through, they wiggled and wormed and worked and pushed, but no one could get through

Since she was a Rose you see, the thorns they pricked and hurt, she was not sure what was happening, but each vine hit the dirt

The mother bush saw her dismay and bent to council Rose, what ails my child, what hurts you so, why do you no longer grow

I do not understand my heart, for every vine is pricked, and when they cry their pain to me I feel their every nick

Silly one you shine so bright for everyone to see, but wait, just wait and you will learn, to pick and choose the one that will set your soul free

The Rose did not understand, for every rose stood tall, supported by a mating vine wrapped around each rose to make them strong.

Then one day while it doth rain she looked upon the sky, a lone and shy vine approached and opened up and for the very first time

This vine he asked her for her heart, and then he asked her path, for him to be the one for her he must ask how to wrap

Finally, she understood what mother Rose had meant; other vines had tried to take what’s hers without consent.

And finally that special one the vine to make her strong, had finally asked her what she needed, the most important question of them all.