Submitted by Saiyyu’s Space.
He lured the rose away from home
Wanting her beauty for his own.
“Here you do not belong
Why! you should listen to my song,”
said the sweet honeyed voice.
Go on said the rose,
let us hear this round of prose.
“You are rose and it is thorn!
so what, if into that family you were born?
You are tender, the fairest of thy gender.”
Smiled the rose and looked wide-eyed
At her future, this honeyed voice hath spied?
“Go on,” she said, now interested.
“You see my lady, you are elegance
You are grace
It deserves better, that glowing face.”
“So you say my plant should shed its sharp-ones?
Why I will be,
unprotected and unsafe.”
“Ah, m’lady, don’t you worry of the thorns
They are dead.
I suggest for you a new home instead.
One where you’re not just a flower,
but great grandeur.”
“Oh! but I do not worry of a thorn!
but of my root and stem —
without me they are forlorn.”
“And your leaves? I suppose you’d miss them too?
Oh enough of this lasting prattle!
You must not crib, your new home’s crystal
I do not fib.”
The honeyed voice and the crystal
was all the rose could hear and see.
It was dusk and she was blind —
for the silky voice, a great find.
“Be it so, I shall say goodbye
or, in sadness they will die.”
She thought she heard a distant chuckle.
There and then she shed her plant
and she left her thorn;
her roots did groan and her leaves did frown
but held the voice, our lovely rose in hand.
She stood staring at her crystal home,
and listening to the silky voices —
now they came in many more choices
The wonder had passed and the horror had amassed.
Yes, she lived in a crystal shell
Yet one by one her petals fell.