Thorny beauty
catches your eye
blinding you–temporarily
to the greenhouse roses
without bouquet.

Rough bark,
strong stem,
thorns a dagger’s envy,
lush green thickness,
scent intoxicating,

all so unnerving,
you won’t notice,
the gentle blossoms
—pink—
amongst the complex vitality.

Standing tall within her beauty,
she remains innocent
to your feeble blight,
absorbed in the joy
of warmth and sunlight.

A response poem to “She Was The Storm” by Cherie Avritt I saw in a review by Rachel 0ates.