who would think a rose so sweet would dry && crumble at the feet && blooms that scent the night && day would steal a heart , then fade away . with petals soft && fondly red , sweet essence fills an addled head then turns to dust before the eyes , leaving naught , but sad surprise . who would think such thorny vine could lift a blossom as divine && by the stem on which it stands could so wrong an offered hand . such strength && beauty is rarely true , a blessing owned by very few as ‘neath the soil , in winters keep there sleeps a rose to tear a cheek . // penned by lune .









