The beauty of a Rose, its pure innocence,
The glee it brings when it’s greatness is gifted.
The heart of the beholder filled with wonder,
The senses are taken and one by one are lifted.
The eyes compare this single and individual flower,
To other types, different kinds and breeds.
By far it exceeds its expectations, its presence causes delight,
By comparison other flowers are weeds.
The nostrils take in this pleasing aroma,
The smell of perfection oozes even from its very name.
The inhaled pollen gently nests inside the smeller;
The Rose and the lover become indistinguishably the same.
But alas, perfection, beauty, love, all only mask what is hidden below, A secret that must remain.
The reality of the Rose shows a sorrowful being,
Saddened by its curse, the potential to cause great pain.
The happiness and the joy, the eternal unquestioning love,
The Rose can turn all this to scorn.
The beautiful creation, the sad and scared soul,
Only too aware of the truth; Every Rose has a Thorn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem