Ode to a Rose

Red rose, red rose,
your bloomith I know;
Your heart I can see,
As clear as can be;
The truth of all things,
revealed in your wings;
Bright petals spread,
to reveal nothing dead;
Shrouded in Love,
and sprinkled with pain;
You are hope for tomorrow,
exchanging all of my sorrow.

(c) Alan Bailward, 1996