A moonbeam there, beyond my sash
alights upon the rose.
It shows in angled, shadowed light
the bloom in sweet repose.
Red, now black as the deepest night,
sleeps ethereal this night.
Amid stark thorns, this velvet womb,
lends mystique to the sight.
The midnight air does draw a breath,
to sip a sweet perfume.
A cloud slides cross a moons pale face,
lends stars to bless the bloom.
Copyright © Paula Swanson