Life curtsied low, left a rose –
strolling past, I watched it die.
Petals do conceal their thorns;
but I know flowers lie.
Death bowed for me, left a weed –
deliberately, I took the bait.
Ugly roots display the truth;
there’s honesty in hate.
Yet, life or death, it matters not -
each needs the buzzing bee.
Plants thriving here or dying there;
it’s all the same to me.
It's All the Same to Me
