Four Roses

Shackle.
Binding me like you banded those before,
And there were many.
Five roses stemmed from a single loathsome thorn.
Four roses scorned.
All but one left unadorned
What remained?
A feud,
A fray,
A falling out.
Tasting spite,
Like acid aflame.
Hate must wane!
Generations of bloom;
A beginning,
An ending,
A resolution.
When the shackle changes hands,
You are forgiven.
Four roses scorned.