the beauty in the rose is its thorns for it keeps it humble

I request of you
To appreciate beauty
The special faucets
In every being
Without being judgmental
A rose is a rose
But its thorns are its grandeur
It must bare
For it is too often plucked with out care
To its longevity
Be careful of whom you judge
To be greater than the rose
For then you have become one
Who hath lost
The ability to see
To create beauty
In your own life
And that of others

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