My feet touch scarcely the unknown soil
repetitively winding and unwinding
as would the prowling of a curious lion
to its new surrounding.

My hand cautiosly longs to touch
as the petals look so soft and warm
but fear the tear of crimson sorrow
for you are both the flower and the thorn.

A rose sits adamently , urging me
its sweet smell the very fabric of desire
can it be -that scent it carries
summons the Muse to come inspire.

Cherubs and godly beings alike
might bless the deadly sinful power
but ****** be I for being hasty
for you are the thorn as well as the flower