Just a little something I wrote a while back. Its not exactly a poem but I thought I'd share it with y'all. I call it Blossoms.... You've heard many people say that life is no bed of roses. Well it's my opinion that it is. Life is a bed of roses. Few buds, many thorns. So many times it seems to prick us more than we can stand. Imagine for a moment your in a rose garden. It's winter and all around you is a mass of mangled, prickly vines. Disgusted with the view, you reach out to rip the vines down. Almost instantly you jerk your hand back in pain. Blood drips from your thumb as it throbs. Grumbling, you leave amazed that such a tiny thorn can inflict so much pain. Why do people have these strange plants in their gardens? Because they've been there in the spring. They've seen the blossoms that are so huge and heavy the vine nearly touches the ground under the weight. They've smelled the aroma that wafts from the buds. So life is just the same. W