Would a rose by any other name be as sweet?
Would a rose gifted by another sweep me off of my feet?
Would the fragrant scent make me so softly weak?

Never have I ever been one for flowers,
Their allure held but for a few hours,
A vibrant life for temporary display,
Before they drop all their petals, wilt away.

A perspective from closed eyes open to see,
Finding sincerity in the twelve before me,
Watching their flirtatious shadows dance
As the petals sway to the breezes romance

Studying their intricate details,
Have I never read the story each rose tells?
Sewn into the earth, cared for, tended to,
Their history of love, unfolding in bloom
Like books unfurling pages, one by one
Each petal a testament to the tenderest love

I imagine his eyes, the warmth of his heart
For a moment their stories and my own were of one part.
Gifted with the purest intentions, a hopeful beginning
From those hands seeking love, never-ending

So would a rose by any other name be as sweet?
If from the hands of the one who gifted them to me.