I pipped into the future
Saw a large garden
On it grew roses and thorns
In one accord
The thorns grew alongside the roses
Without hurting them in anyway
They grew so close
They had the same roots
There stood a gardener
At the garden’s gate
Basket in hand
Worry written all over his face
He wondered how
He’d pick up the roses
Without bruising their petals
He had to anyway
He picked with care
The roses from the thorns
Some he picked whole
Others he had to throwaway
He got injuries from the thorns
Threw away the bruised roses
But the roses in the basket
Were price enough for his troubles
The gardener is me
The roses my dreams
The thorns – Obstacles
I’ll have to overcome.