Still sorting through the old stuff

I found this poem I wrote about 28 years ago ....

The sun rises
A rose is in bloom
In a few hours
It has reached its peak of beauty

Night falls
The rose has withered
Only to die
It’s beauty now a memory
Going on

But the thorn on the rose bush
Does not die
It grows stronger
To intensify the beauty
Of the next rose

How fortunate, then,
We must be
For the thorns
In our lives
For they can make us
More beautiful

And

How fortunate we are
Not like the rose
But, instead, like the memory,
Going on Forever

~~Miss Roxie