ROSES

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Roses


Two girls would always take a stroll,
Beside my little garden of roses.
Their eyes would always miss me,
But never the beautiful roses.

Both their eyes would brighten up,
Both their lips would widen.
But only one hand would stretchen out,
To pluck the lovely roses.

I stopped them once on their stroll,
To ask a long-standing question.
Why one always did pluck it out?
While the other never touched the roses.

It makes 'me' more beautiful ,said one
Gives 'me' a sense of pride.
Throws many an eye on 'me',
And I just love the roses.

Let 'it' live, said the other one,
Than die on the tress of a man.
Let 'it' sing and dance in its own world,
And relish its short life span.

She never seemed to have a liking,
For she never uttered the word love.
But she gave me a thought that still lingers on,
Who really loved the roses?