By JH Sayyar
Upon the breath of dawn, soft petals bloom,
With crimson fire or pale and blushing grace;
They spill their scent into the morning's gloom,
A silent song that time cannot erase.
Each thorn they bear, a testament to pain,
Yet beauty thrives amid the fiercest thorn;
A rose will drink from both the sun and rain,
Its velvet heart by nature's passion worn
In lovers’ hands, they speak what words conceal,
Of yearning hearts and promises once made;
Their fleeting lives remind us all to feel
The warmth of joy before it starts to fade.
O rose, thou art both sorrow and delight
A bloom of day that dreams into the night
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