Looking out this window
I see roses on the fence
but they only seem
to make things appear dimmer in the midst

Their petals are falling
because the sun doesn't shine
Their vines no longer crawling
left are only thorns that prick like needles of pine

Petals of brown and grey
drop onto the ground
feeling like open prey
as if their hands are bound

These roses have taken beatings
and seem on the verge of death

But there's one red rose left

Its stem stands strong
and its leaves remain green
and while all of it seems wrong
it also knows there's nothing



that it hasn't seen.