By any other name

I swore I would never
curse the rose
for trading its scent
in thorns

That was in the morning
and as the sun arose
my spirit sprung up
on fragrant exhiliration
to greet it

By mid morning the first
of the punctures
from the previous barter
tingled, nearly stinging
but falling short of burning,
my soul still sturdy convinced me
of the benefits of the bargain

My body sore by noon
started to be consumed
by the lingering irritation
left by the earlier negotiation

It is now nearly supper
and I can hardly walk
every inch of skin has holes
which seem to let leak
that inner self that helped propel

So now left lost
and badly scarred within the garden
Im afraid I can not
remember
that roses god damned smell