My rose this time
Is family ties,
Parents loving as can be.

My thorn today:
I don’t feel okay,
In body or mentally.

My complaints
Know no restraints
Because I’m never in the right

My roses, rare
To be compared
With the thorns of my blight.

Roses and thorns
Suf’rings and scores
May I count them ev’ry day.

Thorns and roses
My body opposes
To simple blessing my way.

“Count again
The roses plain,”
The inner voice suggests.

Under order short
From a quiet sort,
I obey and take the test.

Trusting true
In Holy You,
I close my eyes in prayer.

“You made the skies,
The Heavens, and I surmise
You can help me find the roses there.”

My roses now,
In abundance- how?
I feel my aching spirit rise.

I’m smiling more
And healing for sure-
How could roses disguise?

I’ll tell you now
The remedy, and how
I truly love my life.

It’s all because
Roses disguise
In struggle and in strife.

Thorns, in faith,
Are blessings made
As hardness and pain.

Roses still,
Are thorns, and will
Make us holy again.

My rose today?
I don’t feel okay.
Yet my days are back in laughter.

My thorn this time?
I say I feel fine,
And not much sadness comes after.