Roses Sweetheart roses prickle as they grow on stem strong thorns,

while tender noses tickle to the smell of fragrant morns

Dew drop tears are glistening, on the hand held rose,

rolling down the petals life to drip upon her toes

She grasps it with a smooth fresh clasp, a slight scratch upon her skin

a moment with her lonesome rose digs in like a pin

Color brilliance magnifies the fragile pollen twist,

to open up into a life, my flower pastel mist.

Aroma from my beauty is the air of heavens scent

it expands as it fills my lungs, a breath I can’t forget

When the petals wilt apart to die and not pretend,

heaven only knows if or when it will ever bloom again

© 2014 All rights reserved, a. Jermano