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...