Classic Poem

I touched life
with my blind hands
It was a mass of thorns.

Feeling how life was such a mass of thorns,
I smiled.
If there are so many thorns,
roses will soon be blooming, I thought.

Yet even if roses bloom,
how shall I ever forget the pain of the thorns?
But
if only roses once bloom,
why can't I lose the pain of the thorns?

I caressed life
with my blind hands.
I expected roses
beyond the mass of thorns.

So many thorns were sticking
out from it, yet
I could not find a single rose.

So tell me now, please,
is life thorny roses or rosy thorns?
Is it thorns of roses? or is it
roses and thorns?