Golden Rose
At last a rose it grows, a beautiful recourse,
Floating in the tides, a shallow clear remorse.
Not known how tall to grow, yet pedals rowed, by pinkish row.
All colors of the skies so lyrical, like the deepest morning rainbows glow.
In heaven brow to reach her tip,
Grow sweetly, softly, with waters sip.
Hazel thorns of green and brown.
Not wanting , or speaking ghastly sounds,
Grounds beneath with worms that crawl,
Ingesting seed and bearing all.
To the sun, she smiles for thee,
An everlasting golden tree.
Grow to the stars, to angel eyes.
As flaming swords in hells demise,
My flower, last eternally tall.
As stem and leaf and pedals fall.
For in the earth, or vastness blue,
This golden rose I give to you.