I leaned closer to sniff a flower.
I was too close and felt as though
The rose had given me a kiss.
I will never pluck it from its stem.
This rose, this flower,
This gentle and prickly manifestation,
Is a part of the Earth,
And will not be forced apart,
By my hand.
Towering above all creation it must remain.
It’s reflection glimmering brightly from the pond
That nourishes its roots.
The Rose is swayed by the wind and nothing more,
And I the faithful spectator walking by,
Will always admire,
The glory of its bloom.