Dimondsparkle's Journal

The black rose sits alone in a garden.

Surrounded by those of white,

red, pink, and even orange.

The rose of black is all alone in a world of color.

The other roses won't even look towards her way.

Why?

Because she is different?

Or maybe, that she is the most lovely of them all?

When the morning comes.

And the dew has settled on her petals.

She shines more than all of the color roses.

The dew drops are like little diamonds on black velvet.

But she is a Black rose of the night.

Her beauty is even more at the stroke of midnight.

She is alone.

She will always be alone.

She is The Black Rose.