The queen sits on a throne, wearing a crown of roses and thorns,

Standing out like a unicorn.

She sits on the throne and remembers.

The gardener threw the petals.

The princess wanted nettles.

Sharp like horns are the thorns.

The vines, so stubborn.

The vines that twist and turn.

The vines that settle and unsettle.

The princess wanted a dozen roses,

To match the tiara on her head.

The gardener proposes a crown instead.

He proposes a crown made of thorns, vines, and roses.

And the roses, monumental.

One day the queen speaks,

"I resign from this throne,

For this crown, I do not condone."

She hands the gardener the crown and says,

"I dare you to wear this crown on your head."