Black Rose I found the rose in early September The petals were ruby red and it had the most beautiful stem. It gave me just what I was lacking The rose's warmth filled my every pore down to my heart's core. A dead heart began to beat once more. I desired that rose and I almost picked it. But I stopped and walked away. In my absence another found the rose, by the time I returned, it was gone. I learned that day that even the most delicate roses have thorns. Now when I think of it I no longer think of it as a red rose I only see a Black Rose.