By JH Sayyar
Upon thy cheek the blush of roses dwells,
A hue more tender than the morning's flame,
Where fragrance deep in secret silence tells
The whispered vow, lips would scarcely name.
Thou art my rose, and I thy yearning thorn,
That clings too close, yet trembles at thy grace,
For every petal, like a love new-born,
Unfolds its truth upon thy radiant face
O fragile bloom, thy beauty will not stay,
The winds of time shall steal thy velvet red,
Yet in my heart, where seasons lose their sway,
Thy image grows where once its scent had fled.
So let me love thee while the daylight glows
My soul's own spring, my beloved, my rose.
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