Flower in rags

Sitting on the park bench
Watching kids play
Dressed up like angels
Running, laughing all the way.

A rude refusal rang out
A sharp, cruel tone
Shattering the blissful
Lovely serenade.

I turned my face
Saw a sad scene.
A flower being ripped
By a bitter thorn.

A beautiful flower
Dressed in rags
Was trying to sell
A bunch of roses.

Some well-dressed mama
Thought she was too dirty
To come near her
Or her precious ones.

So she was applying her right
To make her understand
How unworthy she is
Of venturing so near her.

She turned to walk away
Scared and pale
Learning a lesson bitter
Too early in life.