The roses of a savage garden

Our life is but a savage garden,

The roses grow, but very few,

amidst the green, they thirst for dew.

the thorns outnumber every blossom,

 hurting if we are not cautious.

when we turn and yearn for light,

our faces warmed, the hurt forgotten,

desert rain brings us life,

growing up into a promise.

The End

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