Nobody Knows

Nobody knows

Nobody knows the bramble thorn like me, The root, the leaf, the deep red fruit, the seed. Nobody knows the pain, The scars that still remain, Nobody knows the bramble thorn like me.

The hidden thorn behind the roses’ smile The petal’s deed perfume that will beguile; The pink, the white, the red I have loved, and I have said: Nobody knows the pain she gives, like me.

Chorus Fairer hands than mine, by— — those thorns shall bleed, They reach to touch, to love, and find but pain. Though scarred by that embrace, they reach because they need To love the thing that hurts, yet still remains.

Behind the flower of love, the sharpest thorn — The smiling flower that dashes hope forlorn To pluck the flower of love With the hand she might reprove Nobody knows the pain of love like me.

Chorus Love’s born in the fire, of the bramble and the briar Who weave that crown we’d wear for love’s own sake; Without malice, hate or ire, we’re driven by desire To touch the thorn that love drives like a stake.

O Nobody knows the pain she gives, like me.

— © Frank Callery, January 8th. 2017.