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Life is a garden of both roses and thorns
But beauty grows up in rows and throes
Roses rise up from the thorns and thistles
By blunting all their spines and prickles
With easy wafts of fragrance on the earth
They prove their eternal worth and mirth
Life is thorny and bitter but always better
Greater than those, fallen in a dirty gutter
Leaves, pale and frail, may wither and fall
But seeds sprout up by hugging the squall
Only a breath of fresh air is all they need
To beautify the earth with what they breed
Life is not a bed of roses; let them so say
Love winnows all the thorns from our stay.
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