Gloomy Stories

Are we not both roses grown from the same bush, Budding and blooming with petals grown flush? Are your leaves green as the green of my own? Do your thorns not prick as mine own be known? Surely our scent be the same, for how could it not? Yet you’re praised as sweet while I’m passed and forgot. Does the red hue burn brighter in you, Or are you more soft and supple in view? My stalk stands strong and my nectar is sweet, So...