For my beautiful rose.

A rose and a flame,
are just about the same,
as each can be graceful,
and each can maim.

A bright red rose shall grow,
a flower of beautiful flow,
and become a lovely favor,
For one you wish to savor.
But even a rose has it's thorn,
and now as I forewarn,
of a red rose's spike,
with a single fatal strike.

A flame shall burn and grow,
with it's beautiful glow,
and dance and shimmer,
and glow bright as the world gets dimmer.
But a flame will burn,
and rage shall churn,
and nothing shall stay,
in a sinister fire's way.

But a rose may wilt,
and a flame may tilt,
but they can both,
be coaxed into regrowth.
But if it were to land,
in a demon's cruel hand,
the seeds would spread,
the sparks would be fed.