Wild Rose

When catching up a wild rose

I search for one whose pose

proves delicate and fine

while leaves have finished withering

their stems lie fruitless until spring

when Nature takes her time.

The potted plant can't settle

this craving for a petal

beyond natural selection

and vines may offer pity

but winding is too witty

to win them serious mention.

A rosebush doesn't compromise.

For those patient and wise enough

to tender them perennially

receive beauty in returns

as frequently as ferns

but crowned with buds of royalty.

I found a rose in bleakness

trembling with the grimace

of a blushing sepal torn

and with this rose of roses

my embrace once softly closes

closes on her thorns.