Why am I seen as the emblem of love?

I have the potential to heal people but hurt them, too

To bring happiness, yet cause heartbreak

I get sent in dozens on Valentine's Day to reassure love,

Yet a wreath of me means someone lost a loved one.

People pick me because I'm beautiful.

The radiance of my redhead; eye-catching.

But I'm just a flower, a bundle of petals on a stem.

I die within a week of being cut from my home.

Maybe that just means beauty is temporary.

I'm soft and delicate.

But can be crushed easily.

I'm a symbol of elegance and grace,

Yet have thorns that can draw blood.

I guess that's the irony in me,

The fact that love hurts.