why is the winter rose so precious, is it that everything is dead nothing is alive, even the cold is dead and blusterous. The wind is so shrill it scrapes at you’re skin and flesh. The deadliness of all around in winter makes a gloomy life from scares of the previous winter, the winter rose is precious for it’s lively looks, but yet does anyone try to understand the rose. Like does it feel alone, dead, no purpose? Like weathering away to set the lonesome mood which surrounds the earth. Does the rose feel out of place, not needed for it may know it is wanted, but only for it’s beauty and only till that dies to. Is the rose beautiful or as ugly as the thorns which grow upon the stem, as ugly as the pain of the thorn piercing through flesh as one takes a simple smell of it’s liveliness, just for the rose to feel empty and robed.
Reason for writing:
My little sister is like a winter rose and no one really understands her so I wrote about her and I love her I do understand her.
Birth sign: Aquarius
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