My Rose

My rose your pedal red,

As a lover to my bed.

You grow weary as you tremble,

in your soft, moist ground so humble.

Let not the winds tire you.

Nor the rain marque your spirit dampen.

Instead stand tall and bloom,

as beauty does so rare abandon.

Reach up to the stars,

where fires dance and heavens glow.

Let your leaves reach far,

With drops of rain to slowly soak.

For resemblance of my love, you shall always be.

My sweetest rose, my thorn whom apprehends, my felicity.