Rose bush

Rougher at the stem
Rugged more at the thorns
Hiding  away the rose for hands not to touch.
May it be still, for it is not sweet
How is it that ice slowly melts for her?
So gentle the scissors cuts,
Retains, the part of thorns, but cuts out the smoother side.
The wasps keep their distance, but love the thrill.
The burning desire of the stem to produce roses.
The thorns can no longer keep the wasps at bay for sometime, for the roses will soon blossom ,softens more than ever.