“If we need an image of that light within us for the sake of the mind that becomes lost in its brilliance, we might see a single white rose poised toward eternity while still glistening in the early morning sun.” ~ Robert Rabbin
Delicate petals subdued with early dew
Awaiting the warmth, the sun to renew
Buzzing and flutters, some cared, some knew
Another night passed a rose cannot undo.
Thorns that prick like the spindle in a tale
Meant to stay safe, sheltered in its veil
Uncertain of its significance, tender and frail
“Touch me”, it pleads, lamenting its wail.
For the rose fears its ashen purity may fade
Tender movements its petals displayed
Its whiteness becoming, see it real, feel it true
An untouched white rose sadly wilts to black and blue.