pruning roses

I tried to prune my roses
but the thorns were mean to me.
They jabbed me and they stabbed me;
I had gashes, two or three.

I fought the battle bravely
while with their stems I wrestled,
but among the sprays and vines
small swords and rapiers nestled. 

Some gardeners enjoy the
scent of these fragrant flowers,
plant them all around their yard,
cascading over bowers.

But mine are small enemies
with animus in their thoughts;
they have no compunction for
the injuries they have wrought.

For those who think that pruning
is an exercise quite zen,
I tell them anytime they
want to prune mine, just say when.

Liz McFadzean