The Rose by Lang Leav

The Rose

Have you ever loved a rose, and watched her slowly bloom; and as her petals would unfold, you grew drunk on her perfume.

Have you ever seen her dance, her leaves all wet with dew; and quivered with a new romance— the wind, he loved her too.

Have you ever longed for her, on nights that go on and on; for now, her face is all a blur, like a memory kept too long.

Have you ever loved a rose, and bled against her thorns; and swear each night to let her go, then love her more by dawn.

—Lang Leav