A child inquired, “What is a rose?”
As she sniffed a few from the garden nearby.
How could I possibly explain to her what a rose was
When all I thought of it was a red flower?

I guess it represents a flag of hope, always leaning towards the
bright side, remaining motivated to accomplish anything.

Or I guess it is a mighty warrior,
Its weapon being its thorns;
It fights its troubles and protects the rest of the garden,
Filled with daisies, sunflowers, and more!

Or I guess It is a tremendous red heart,
Beaming with joy, expressing its happiness
And claiming, “I love you!”

And now it seems to me that it is
A representation of my mother—
Comforting, welcoming, beautiful,
Yet strict and protective.
A mother is the best person you will encounter, and a rose is the
Best flower you will encounter.

It may be you, little rose,
That radiates love an energy,
But underneath all that beauty
Lies anger,
Buried inside,
Waiting to strike like a hungry lion;

And here you stand,
Swaying with the wind
Like a hula dancer and shining as brightly as the stars!
How free-minded and show stopping you are!
O I can see through you, envious of you!
I wish I could be like you!
Fierce like a lion,
But beautiful like a newborn baby!
Strong like a warrior,
But patient like my mother!
O rose, how can I be you?