You Have The Spirit Of A Red, Red Rose Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

It's not defined or hidden by petals.
Nor demarcated by sharp, wetted thorns,
Her eyes' hypnotic beauty possesses
The stars, like the sky that the sun adorns.
You have the beauty of a wild hedge rose.
I want to prick my thumb, feeling all love's woes.
Your heart doesn't require any bedclothes.
You have the spirit of a red, red rose.
Don't want to hold you in any way, of course.
Like the Persian rose, you are the truest source.
But, like the hedgehog, if taken by force,
All four petals are frail, will disperse, of course
Love, taken slowly, grows not in deceit,
Gowns - they're for dilettantes in conceit.