Waiting for the nurturing warmth upon its face,
Hoping for a reason to unfurl her velvet lace;
Wrapped snugly in its bud are treasures soft and sweet,
And only in release can her beauty be complete.

The passion of a rose is wrapped up nice and tight,
And its potential waits there, beyond the strongest might.
It opens to the season's mysterious caress,
And lifts its face to heaven for God to touch and bless.

He touches those soft petals with the blush of love
And releases from its heart a fragrance born above.
Just below the petals is a sacrificial thorn,
And in those lush green leaves, hope for life reborn.

Its passion is released, and seems so quickly gone,
But the love for which it sacrificed goes on and on and on.
With its fragrance all used up, its velvet tarnished, too,
Then its crystal vase is empty - its passion is in you.

©2001 Michael S. Davis