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A rose
A rose, when comes she into bloom
demands, from others, the room
to blossom forth with heaven’s scent,
and cares she not for dull dissent.
A rose, when scent of her is spice,
doth remove, from others, icy
thoughts, in her controlling bid to be
the one in bed, who’s living free.
A rose, when petals fall,
remains the belle at the ball;
no sense of doom she feels
as Summer Time wheels
along; she knows a second flush
comes forth in Season’s rush,
as maiden once, again, may blush.
A rose, when all is said and done,
doth charm and stun,
a beauty in her form and scent
a prize to us; from heaven sent.
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