Rose

A rose is but a simple feature of the Mother.

Hidden deep within the forest, it prospers.

Permeating the air with a feminine perfume,

Invigorating the senses of man.

With its rouge-stained surface, it bleeds into the night,

Sparking a fire in the souls of the lost -

Timbers, bushels, brambles, weeds -

All inspired by the petal.

As the days grow colder, the nights darker,

The rose stiffens, frozen in Time.

The petals descend, the stem retreats,

And the frost begins.

Stuck in its slumber, the flower waits.

Breaths are quickened, and peace clouds over,

Protecting the Spring in its seed,

Until next time.