My Rose

My rose, while growing in a garden not my own, is mine all the same Do not my eyes smile at her beauty and lose themselves in her scent? Do not my fingers tremble with anticipation just to touch her silky skin? While there may be pain when I hold her in my strong embrace It compares not to the loss I feel when at last her I release Others may measure her beauty and pen such odes to last in infamy Yet words can never paint her essence, or do poetic justice to her true loveliness My Rose, my perfect one will grow always in my heart for it is, and will remain her own. ~Christopher Thor Britt