Love's Rose

Far back in the cool green shadows of the woods in a foreign land, there blows a rose of thornless stock; it is thornless by Love's reprimand. The hunters have fled the battle; the woodland lies placid and still with naught to break the blest quiet save for the nightingale's trill. Kneeling beside the fair blossom is a maiden of purest heart whose virgin soul no man has known; it was reserved for her true love's art. Nestled against her maiden breast lies the beast of the ivory horn; he who discerns the virgin heart, the magnificent unicorn. The trees gather round enchanted; their lacy tops whisper the song, "home is the warrior from battle for right is triumphant o'er wrong." He rests, wings folded, victorious; enraptured, she cradles his head. Love is the balm his soul needed for the wound that rankled blood red. Far back in the cool green shadows of the woods in a foreign land, there blows a rose of thornless stock; it is thornless by Love's reprimand. The rose which blossoms eternal knows the lovers will never part; it is white for a love without blemish; it is red for their passionate heart. Faye Lanham Gibson Copyright, 1987