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...
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