Fulcrum of a rose

A long-stemmed rose ... Her finest silk gown of vermilion petals unfurls in rhapsody of a bride's embrace. A dewy little face of splendor looks up and permeates the air with waves of scent. Spilling sweet essence of delicate lullabies hangs in her branch, the Duchess of Clouds. Bees gossip around her, whispering stories of lush green love, and bountiful blooms. But the rose said, I won't be always red. The effervescent spring, December preys colorful Death turns all crimson to greys. Wilting leaves to endure her frozen petals, and thorns to guard with pricks of Truth. A balance of fulcrum with equal weights- you wish to be this, but you need to be that. The rose lives not long, it's only for a while But waits for the Equinox, for another smile. A long-stemmed rose...