Thorns

THORNS I walk naked among the thorns of life waiting to breathe in a sweetened spice Scratched and bruised I overcame, and remained patient just the same. A wary glimpse, and I remember, The moment felt in mid September The white flecked red rose so purely born cannot beguile or more adorn its symmetry. Ah sweet smell, my sense allows a perfumed mist to thus arouse a quick moment, an abductee of jealous fading reverie. I wonder if, do you suppose, That life is like the white flecked rose? CAK 11-07-2012