They are the only ones that are red. I am the only one who picks them. Ten beautiful roses with green stems and sharp thorns like knives. Ten out of a hundred more in my yard. Ten who are there for there beauty. From my room, I can see them, but when winter comes there's nothing left to see.
Their beauty is key. They send happiness throughout the neighborhood. They grow tall and they grow short and grab the dirt between their green stems and sharp thorns and reach the sky and never quit being beautiful. This is how they stand.
Let one forget his reason for being, They’d all slowly lose their petals one at a time , each trying hard to survive. Water, water, water they say when I sleep. They cry.
When I am too dry and too dull to keep going, when I am a tiny thing against a white fence, I then look at my surviving buddies. When there’s no more roses to look at in my yard. Ten who grew despite water. Ten who grow and do not forget to grow. Ten whose only reason is to brighten someone’s day.