THE ISLAND OF ROSES

 In the island of roses

There remains the thorn beneath,

Different seasons of their poses

Lies the pain underneath.

 

Glad with the alluring mountains

Afraid of the devastating  pits,

Fascinated with the fountains

But, am I okay with all I see?

 

Perhaps the things will be as beautiful as roses

Otherwise, it would always be counted as thorns

I want it to change its poses,

But with less of warns

And more of roses.

-Aarohi