I am the eyesore in Elysian fields,
I am the black rose in a world that asks for red petals.
Water from my roots boils in my stem,
For I can never be red like them.
The black rose blossoms just like the others,
White , yellow and red all are picked together.
But beauty is in the blossoming of the flower,
Yet the world sees beauty only in colour.
I see children rose picking in the morning,
And the reds they seem to pick without warning.
And the black roses waits in the amidst the grasses,Until it finally fades.