Pout

I asked the Felon what he thought about this thorn, he said 'a rose is like a portrait all aglow, but venture close and you could have your fabric torn you need to stand and ask for lovely words to flow. Only the sweetness of a rose can ever still a tiny wound inflicted, healing is complete, and words of love, my friend, will conquer any hill but I was thinking now I'd rest here on this sheet.' He turned to snuggle to the pillow, (well good night) , not being talkative, I wonder what he knows, though as for me, I might fly higher than a kite and soar to places where the lava truly flows.