In nature's garden, fair and bright,
A rose emerges, pure and light,
Its petals soft as morning dew,
A symbol of love, forever true.

Yet hidden among its grace so sweet,
Thorns emerge, a stern heartbeat,
A paradox within its beauty rare,
A question lingers in the air.

Why should a rose have thorns, we ask,
Why mar its beauty with this task?
Perhaps it serves a...