I love roses;
They are sweet.
Sweet from the petals;
To our feet.
They smell as pretty;
As a baby girl;
As beautiful;
As her small curls.
Soft and red; 
Just like her sweet lips;
So stout, but sweet;
As fragile as her fingertips.
They grow very strong,
And they grow very tall;
Their petals are so frail,
And start so small.
Blooming in the spring,
And growing so high;
Reaching to the clouds;
Up in the sky.
So very lovely,
And so very tough;
So very soft,
And not at all rough.
But, watch out;
For tiny thorns;
Though they look;
Like the sweetest thing ever born.