Contributor: Gina Grace Huh
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My father was the first man to give me a red rose,
a small bud with thorns.
He told me, this is his love.
The deep crimson shade will always be
the unknowns and the mysteries love has stored.
The young rose will always be
who I am to him, his little girl.
The small but sharp thorns will always be
the imperfection and pain that comes with love.
But through the years, he clipped each and every thorn off
reminding me his love was perfect and pure.
Slowly but surely, the rose soon stood upon a stripped stem.
The thornless rose continued to grow
because of my one and only protector.
He told me, this is his love.
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Gina Huh is a tireless homebody who often loses track of time getting lost in new books. She loves to go on hikes and take in the beauty of SoCal.
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