Christine K. Trease
The newly kissed cheeks of the blood red roses waft in the fragrant breeze.
Though firmly planted in brown dirt beds they sway about with ease.
They bask in the sunlit fields of warmth while safely tucked away,
They dance about and chance to guild the lilies across the way.
They bat their pollen-dust lashes at the bees that happen by.
They revel in vainness and beauty, and they wink a tempting eye.
They beckon even the strongest of wills who chance along their way.
They have no choice bu