In the storm stands the white rose, tumultous, wave soft destruction. Abound her yet tall is the white rose. Strong in the face, of the sensed doom around her. And she does not bow down, pure is the white rose.The compost earth growing eternal, strengthing the nights that so hurt. I see not the white rose. She is so far away but i long to protect her, but only the words can i say. So i send her my words, and my poets heart to help her when there is hope to see her through. Be strong little flower, your heart will guide true, and as long as you want i will always talk to you.
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