The Rose
The rose that didn't
know herself a thing
of perennial beauty –
of vibrant color,
entrancing scent –
the long-time
study of bouquets,
of sentimental verses,
of flawless princesses
and jealous witch's
curses – a rose who
never grew to cherish
the blossoming of gifted
being –
never looked more deeply
beyond the shallow face
of a painful moment's dark
crystal, into the sacred heart
of a bejeweled core –
all life are forms of
buds and blossoms –
man's duty
learning the husbandry
of seeing
and respecting
each petal spent
a fertile encore
death a heartfelt finale
for tears and then applause
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