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 a soft lullaby
A Duchess in her branch, a floating red cloud.
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
Black Death turns all crimson to greys.
Wilting leaves to endure her frozen petals,
and thorns guard her 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...
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