A Bird and the Rose in Folks

One quiet day,

a dove of peace flew near a rose.

It whispered soft— “May I be yours? May I stay close?”

The rose replied, “Not yet, my dear,

For love must bloom as crimson here.”

Another day,

with aching heart, the bird took flight.

It pierced its breast— a wound so bright,

Its feathers stained in scarlet hue,

To prove its love was pure and true. 

At that moment— (the folks say;) 

the rose beheld its crimson glow.

Love awakened for the bird— but too late, for life let go.