Wishing for a prick from a rose.
A simple thorn on a living stick.
A crying form, a tenuous flick.
Close your eyes and sing a song.
Prove me right, though I am wrong.
From the top of my pointed head
To the end of my bony toes.
A Rose
Wishing for a prick from a rose.
A simple thorn on a living stick.
A crying form, a tenuous flick.
Close your eyes and sing a song.
Prove me right, though I am wrong.
From the top of my pointed head
To the end of my bony toes.
Stumbling along the sidewalk 