My roses survive on a shallow land, with their brief life and perfect beauty.
My roses are similar to those hazy days, in an endless search for a beam of light.
My roses are the naughtiest performers, and those poor sniffers, love pretenders are going to be dead.
My heart doesn't belong to a particular lover. Weak hearts relate to those bright butterflies on the rim of a forgotten rainbow.

Artwork by gregg caudell