Smell those sweet roses.
They look as if bloodies,
damaged and abused.
How sweet the roses.
They tell me not to touch,
to save me from themself.
Those roses are so sweet.
And to love a rose is,
To forgive its misdeeds.
To love me is the same
But to love you, is opposite
You won no thorns of words
Nor possess the fragility of heart
How right it is to love you
My dear little lamb
You stand with me til we die
And right all the wrong
Contained in my past
With the kisses you offer
As soft as a rose.
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