The Rose is of a crimson hue,
She burns with a passion that is all her own...
A blaze that burns deeply and brightly,
Which can be ignited by a tiny spark,
Or be doused by a raindrop,
In the warmth of the sun...
She is of a sad lot this Rose,
Filled with the pain of heartbreak and despair,
Yet through loving, living, sharing, caring and growing,
She has found the way back home...
The laughter of children playing in the sun,
The feeling of a snowflake on a silky red petal,
The wind at her back,
The light and warmth of the sunshine on her face...
The sound of the rain as it gently falls,
Upon the garden floor,
The smile of a rainbow kissing the sky,
And the whisperings of a handsome knight,
Upon a fine white steed,
Have all given her the strength to go on...
She has tasted the wine of the Gods,
Drinking from a goblet of gold,
Suffered through the sounds,
Of the philosophies of men,
Yet has found no absolute truth...
She sings sweetly,
For she was born with the voice of the angels,
Buried deep within her bosom,
And dances to the music of the ages,
Romance in every step...
The road she travels far and wide,
Never sleeping, only dreaming,
Still searching, for her prince,
-Michele Cameron Drew