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.