A rose gave up her secret
Of its origin - of its beauty -
In the shadow of her crescent -
Fiercely hushed once to me.
She told me of a plan of love
And a Master Gardener who
Has a touch of silver that betrothed
The rose to the morning dew
And described a place in between
Nothing and a foundation -
The design of which is unbreached -
That lies in an unmeasured dimension
But her exact words were lost
To the enjambment of my memory -
Moreover - my comprehension lapsed -
Found lost inextricably.