Rose

In gardens soft, where sunlight weaves its glow,

The rose ascends, with petals bold and bright.

Its velvet touch, a whisper of delight,

Unfolds in hues where dreams of love may grow.

From crimson deep to blush of dawn’s first light,

Each thorn a guard, each bloom a tender vow.

In morning’s dew, it wears a jeweled crown,

A queen of flora, radiant in her might.

Through ages sung, in poetry and prose,

The rose endures, a symbol of the heart.

Its fragrance lingers, binding near and far,

In every bloom, eternal beauty flows.

No storm can dim the rose’s gentle art,

Its grace remains, beneath the evening star.