Rose Birch

Roses are sometimes red

And birch trees are always tall 

Without a good eye for gardening 

Would they come to know one another at all 

What makes one thorny and the other smooth 

If they both bath under the same melancholy moon

One casts tall shadows when the clouds project just right 

The roses it encompasses even in the darkness of night 

The silvery threads in the bark mysterious and graceful 

As a species has a strong willingness to grow

Except this tree is different, some describe remorseful 

His sap drips notes of old and past sorrow 

It’s trunk expected to regrow in place of tragedy 

Through ice and through fire it prevails 

Then, How?, does one wonder this birch denies itself the capacity 

Perhaps the answer is to be deciphered in its details

Then there is the rose bush 

So prickly and so small 

It’s thorns in fingers she likes to push 

Secretly wanting to also be tall 

It comes in various colors

Many shapes and misshapen thorns 

Sees how its used to amplify the life of others 

Never her home with beauty anyone adorns 

To remove either and not replant 

No water poured in their way 

Forgiveness they are accustomed to grant 

Only hope that one day they don’t decay