thorns

It Was The Thorns

the small pink rose
shed
two tiny tears

last year’s thorns
guard
this year’s growth

the fluidity of bloom
forgotten
the force of bloom
memorialized

the only tool needed
for mining beauty
was observation

defensive
of even
the memory of beauty

delicate beauties
defended
by a century’s thorns

could we meet
in the space
between the thorns

the bloom
after the petal bloom
twice born rose

a lace of thorns
such fierce protection
the wild rose grows

February thorns
protect the idea
of a rose.

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