Whispers of a Rose

Beneath the sun’s first golden light,

A rose begins her bloom,

With petals soft as morning sighs

And fragrance that consumes.

She speaks in silence, red and deep,

Of love once lost or found,

A thorn to guard her gentle truth,

Still rooted in the ground.

Not every bloom is meant to stay,

But still, her beauty shows—

That even time must pause to watch

The whisper of a rose.