Rose glanced down to earth,

And back at her baby, Blossom,

Like the true mother she was.

Her leaf green eyes,

Staring menacingly into your soul,

Like a blunt knife being sharpened to the max.

She fashioned oak brown skin,

The thorny texture as a weapon,

Like a city defended only by nettles.

Her lukewarm flame,

Not used as a weapon,

But a second chance.

Rose’s keen teeth,

All pure white beneath the splatters of berry juice,

They’re all deadly enemies.

Her snake like tongue,

As soggy as a sheep in a raging river,

Like a dog’s wet kiss, just a lot more painful.

With scales as veiny as autumn leaves,

Ready to drift to the ground at the slightest gust of wind,

And stickier than a maple tree’s sap.

And a jagged spine,

Perilous to those who dared touch her,

Like the snow-capped Everglades.

With mammoth wings,

Like a large paraglider

Helping her soar unstoppably through the morning breeze.

Sporting razor sharp talons,

Like murderous blades from a horror movie,

Covered with the occasional splatter of blood or berry juice.

Rose had a velvety belly,

Softer than the comfiest blankets and pillows on earth!

Its lumpy texture made it a bit less pleasant, but still fluffy!

She flapped her colossal wings,

And lifted off the cloud she was resting on,

Leaving behind a glint of hope,

And a hint of fear.