Black Roses

Black roses
Don’t stand quite like the others
Don’t quite catch the eye.
Black roses, alone and dark
Unknown to the world, scared,
Out of thought, out of mind.
When it rains, the downpour pounds
The reds and the whites and the pinks,
Forces them down, twirls them
Around with its breath,
Leaves them to collect its offerings
To the Earth,
The water beads on each petal
Weighing each rose down,
Until it slumps and kneels before the sky.
But black roses go dancing too,
Their petals weighed down as much,
And when the sun returns, then
It can be said that black roses are
Just as beautiful, shimmering
With the reds and the whites and the pinks.
And so even as the water falls away,
Are they not just as beautiful then?
Do they not act just as the others?
But their differences set them apart,
Make them special.
Black roses, glint in the sun after a storm,
Rise up to show the world their
Value.

The first post in ages! Your description of the water beading on the roses and weighing them down was the best part of the poem to me. It made a picture in my mind. The shift in mood is cool, like it starts with gloomy black roses cowering in the corner, moping around and peering at the other roses worthy of notice. It ends with them being of value and rising up! Sometimes the obscure are just as good as the famous, if not better.   

Thank you! I know, I'm resolving to post something at least once a month, because the cite deserves activity.   
I'm glad that's what you got from it, 'cause that's what I meant it to show. So that's wonderful.