Gathering Wild Roses

While gathering wild roses

I search for one whose poses

prove delicate and fine

when 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 glean them serious mention.

A rosebush doesn't compromise.

For those patient and wise enough

to tender them perrennially

receive beauty that returns

as frequently as ferns

but crowns it's buds like 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.