I am a rose with a thorn,

left with no feeling or soul.

So you might think?

This rose has fought Depression,

and still here stranding strong.

I have my thorns sticking out firm.

Protecting me from the Depression,

I still fight today.

But it's now not so hard to stay.

I have found a protecter,

So I will not wither.

And here together,

Never to be ripped appart.

So now you know,

Every rose has it's thorn.