Roses

Roses begin,
As tiny little seeds.
They must be cared for and fed
And protected from weeds.
If all that is done,
Then you'll surely know,
That soon, these little seeds,
Will begin to grow.
Love is like roses,
So fragile, so pure.
But nurtured and cherished,
And you can be sure,
That love will soon blossom,
So beautiful and proud.
A sight that is awesome
And is very rarely found.
Every now and then,
You'll come across a weed,
Or a sharp, pointed thorn
That will hurt and make you bleed.
But behind those hurts,
Is a love so sweet.
Just having it bloom
Is an incredible feat.
Love is like roses,
That you continue to grow.
From a tiny little seed,
To a blossom that grows.