I'm the Ugly Brambly Bush
I’m the ugly brambly bush
I sit in the dead field
With all the dead grass
I’m surrounded by weeds
And no gardener dare tend me
I’m the ugly brambly bush
It’s uncertain everyone thinks
Whether I’m alive or just
Really, really dead
I sit here with my thorns for friends
I’m the ugly brambly bush
Sometimes when night falls
Upon my ugly dead field
A little bud will sprout
It’s a beautiful thought
And from that sprout a rose will grow
And when that rose blooms
It will be a sight for sore eyes
For this ugly brambly bush
This poem is about:
Me
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