Wading through the thorns
Legs scratched and battered, the poet wades throughout the thorns, looking for his special Rose, he's down and all Forlorn
Thorns biting at his skin, blood runs down his leg, from other Roses grabbing at him, for his attention they all beg
He pushes his way through them, none of them compare, to the Rose he is looking for, but where she is he knows not where
Looking high and stooping low, he longs to find his Rose, has she been plucked by another poet, only heaven knows
Has he come to late, has the poet Knight lost the chance for love, he hangs his head in disappointment, he wipes his eyes with a tear stained glove
He continues trudging forward, his heart for sure was broke, then in whisper from a distance, through the wind he heard her spoke
Following her on the wind, to a clearing he arrived, there stood his perfect Rose, she could see that he had cried
With the softest of petals, she wiped away his tears, he swore he'd never leave her side, they'd be together years and years
Then his eyes opened, they blood was from many battles fought, he was alone again, muddy and distraught
He was dreaming of his Rose again, she is the Sunlight in his day, soon he hopes to find her, with her he wants to stay
But there are many battles to be won, before the poet Knight is free, he battles from his crippled bed because the poet Knight is me
THE KINKY POET
