I'm not expecting a fairytale
Freedom of oppression
Or any such thing
Just to find the little place
A garden full of green

To find the sin in roses--
It's a green one
Do you see?

Or does it exist?
Contemplate
that little flowery green

It's thorns are just as sharp
And sinful as the rest
Do you see it?
There--
on that empty plot
Dried and caked
Flatten and Dried

That little flower green

A rose can't exist in envy, so you say
So can sin not exist?
Can a flower love the sun so much
That it puts it silent to rest

Tell me if you can say so much
About sin
And green flowers--that shouldn't be
Reds, pinks, yellows
Is what it should.

But then what would that be?
An imperfect fairytale--
You know the one's I mean

With apples
And evil stepmothers
Or those who died in birth

That make the princess
Turn down that path--
Aren't they it, then?
Do you see?

They're little.
They're alone
For that short period of time

That little--
oh so little
Garden of green.

Not narrow, nor wide
But small, compact, resolute
Against the much loved sun

Does it exist?
I think so
Because it is--

It is the flowers sin

to not be pink, red--jonquil
to be different from the rest
But all the same--
All the same

A rose
Like the rest