by John Roxell
If life were a rose would I smell it?
Or would the fear of the bee's sting hold me back?
If life were a rose would I take pleasure in its lucid color?
Or would the brevity of its glow cloud its sunshine?
If life were a rose would I marvel at its delicate changing form?
Or would the falling of its petals bury the moment of its triumph?
If life were a rose would I pick the frail flower to be my own?
Or would the thorns create a barrier causing me to leave it behind?
If life were a rose.