Yellow roses tickle the sunny veranda,

Just a lemon twist of leaves

Dancing in the afternoon breeze.

They hide their thorns,

The imperfections that break from floral norms

For if a child dare venture near

To stroke the sunburst of velvet petals

A well of blood threatens to appear.

The flowers themselves betray

By their worst side refusing to obey

So hide the bad away.

The corolla defines the beauty

The very thought of thorns beckon home the cruelty

Of the world we live in today.