Thorny Rose

Last Friday

I stumbled upon

A thorny rose

In a lovely garden

I picked up the thorny rose

To admire it

But I was badly pricked

Then I sat down

On the bench

In the garden

With tender tears

In my eyes

Full of contemplation

“Not all beautiful

And pleasurable things

Are good for us,”

I said to myself.”

Some sins

Are very pleasurable

But full of

Deadly thorns

Picking them up

Will not only prick us

But they will burn us badly

Sometimes with

Irreversible consequences

Do not pick up

Thorny roses

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