. . . THE ROSE . . .

Slowly pulling petals,
From a sweet and fragrant rose;
Watching them fall from my fingertips,
Like winter's falling snow.
Knowing that each petal,
Protect's the rose's heart,
Still I pull them one by one,
Gently taking it apart.

Then when the petals are all gone,
The last one on the ground;
I see at last the tender heart,
Of the fragrant rose I found.
Just as slowly you are pulling,
Every petal from my heart;
With every look and every touch,
Gently taking me apart.

You know with every petal,
You see right to my soul;
But yet you pull them one by one,
No longer am I whole.
Now that the petals are all gone,
With my defenses down;
You see at last the tender heart,
Of the fragrant rose you found.