When tyrants bloom among the dung of the city
first they strike against me and my roses
that I offer to the city freely, without demands
save that the thorns are observed and prepared for.

But the grey and wise scream against my thorns
for they shall rend the fragile hands of children
The scent is too strong, they warn, and it will lead astray
those that should revel in the smell of civilization.

But even hidden beneath layers of cloth, the scent calls
to the most pure part of that which is human
the desire to be desired. Even in their greatest cheers
their greatest honors, do the great wish nothing but love.

And if they cannot have your love by the wooing
your wandering eye will be cursed and derided.
For in their capacity, they see only the one path
that must be selected and followed to the forsaking of others.

Pay no attention, cry the tyrants, to the shades of hue
for all shall be red, the purest and most natural of color.
I laugh, for my bouquet is made of flowers shorn
from all manner of flourishing, pinpricks expected and welcome.

Ceremony and rigid gardens are the sole domain of the Rose,
they claim further, when their first complaint was easily met.
Again I laugh, for Roses existed far before gardens,
And their flowers were not bound to pots of gold and silver.

And again they scream at the thorns, no longer for the children
but for themselves. Now their hands hurt, and work is required
to experience that joy of perfection which exists within
their perfect idealized garden, which they refuse to build.

Oh let your love be as they are, not as you wish to prune
Accept their flaws, for addressing them the stems adjust
seeking the sun in new ways and surprising with twists
thought unimaginable before the impediment arose.

The fruit with dents and pocks is still sweet on the tongue,
should you put aside your judgement to taste the heart,
The worm often hides unseen within a perfect specimen,
an entry made long ago, waiting to burst upon the tongue,

should one become too intimate with the product.
Even here on the field of Troy, lovers secretly steal
glances to each other, knowing their tastes, and wishing
that happier times would result in friendlier contests.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTQbiNvZqaY]