Fulcrum Of A Rose
Within the secret sacred shrines of any rose
Dwells a well filled with fountains of a unique scent.
This scent pervades the florescence as each bloom glows.
Though the rose may fade, its scent endures without end.
The fragrance is not on her peripheral skin.
This aroma arises from her spotlessness.
Facing each thick and thin of the seasonal spin
The fragrance finds the inmost shrine's bottomlessness.
My soul is the fulcrum of the scent of goodness.
It's from here that the scent spreads in acts of compassion.
With the unending showers of divine kindness
The stream of scent secretes and flows with dispassion.
Could any rose forget and forsake her fulcrum?
It's towards the lesser-known scent, I Am a Pilgrim.
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