who thought she was a weed,
For her thorns of life had wounded her
and caused her soul to bleed.
as one could ever be,
But she cannot find inside herself
the flower that I see.
and admires the flowers there,
Not realizing that her petals
are as beautiful and fair.
when she understands it's true,
That the other roses look at her
in admiration too.
that will make her understand,
When she sees the rose's reflection
in the glass held in her hand.
the purest one that grows,
And she'll feel my adoration
for the "weed" that is MY ROSE.
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