A Wild Rose
This place, that I saw the picture of a single wild rose.
In the picture it looked as if it was making a pose.
Oh the rose is so delicate looking, all by its self, all alone,
The colors look like nature put them in a matching tone.
I wonder, this place, is where.
The picture of a wild rose among a sea of leaves that are green.
The wild rose stands out calling and saying it wants to be seen.
The petals are light pink, with darker pink running in the veins,
And shadows outward from the veins, flowing with the grains.
I wonder, is this place near.
The picture of a wild rose, with no scent for me to smell,
I closed my eyes and pretended it was there, it was just swell.
The scent was very dainty, it wafted up to my nose so very softly,
Rising inside to my very senses, touching me inside so very hotly.
I wonder, is this place taking me somewhere.
In the center I could see the little aureoles, spreading outward from the center,
Waiting for the bees to come do their duty, waiting for the bees to enter.
This single wild rose has not lost a petal, at least not one that I could see,
Which makes me think this is a young wild rose, thinking, pick me, pick, me.
I wonder, if it would be taken to a place right here.
In this picture that I noticed the leaves were such a beautiful color green.
They know that they are just there, and sometimes, if lucky they are seen.
For they are the backdrop, like paint on a wall, there for the sight of the wild rose,
Seen but not seen, until each petal falls, down where all the fallen petals flow.
I wonder, if it will come back next year.
Written by Mrsupole.
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