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.