The Rose

Rose.

 

As the light hits it, it opens slowly.

Turning towards the source.

Tentatively at first like a maiden.

Her perfume attracts visitors, some are

Welcome, many unwelcome.

The blood trickles down his finger,

Yet he still clutches the stem in his sweaty palm.

Is beauty always so well protected?

The sacrifice is accepted as she smiles

And kisses his damaged hand.

And the Rose continues its love affair with light.

 

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