The tangled briar hides the tale
of lovers trapped and so impaled
upon the thorns of roses divine
clip the bud and watch bloom die
as any growth not cared for well
will find its death in untold hell
while seeking sun that never shines
in shaded place to reach the vines
where nourishment sought never seeks
to reach the root below the peaks
of petals wilted beneath the weight
of other buds that climb the gate
and reach the light as they become
the flowers that blossom under sun
yet often those found gnarled and bent
produce mother nature's sweetest scent
but never plucked for public display
suffer same end and wither away