The Rose

How many admiring eyes set upon you And caught their breath to desire you How many lips touched your fragile petals And wonder how sturdy they were to hold The freshness of the morning dew and swayed gently in the harshness of wild windy tides Your bloom spoke volumes of tunes in harmony and complementary hues, unrivaled Your sight was fashioned to give an undeniably pure pleasure In the most calm and satisfying respite Surviving gracefully to the ravaging rage of the change of season Easing up the uncertainty of wilted pride in summer Dormant yet strong to repose silently in winter Yielding its simplicity in a most content way Vulnerability secured under the proud pricking thorns So fierce,so quick, so strong yet delicate Faded she may look at times but her fragrance stayed with endurance to my delight... Oh! my rose, your grace an inspiration Your beauty, an awe Your purity, a respect Your thorn, a shield You are a creation, when mortals mutter words of praise...