~*~
Roses,
glitter and faerie wings
Is
what of which I am made
The
thorns of the roses may sting
The
wings do not always lift me
When
I clutch the roses too hard
When
too heavy to be lift I be
But
it is worth the stings of the thorns
To
be a rose-clad, glittering faerie
To
then be fully free of mourns
It
is worth to not always rise
To
sometimes be left on the ground
Far
beneath the freedom of the sky
To
be a rose-clad, glittering faerie
And
to then no worries carry
~*~