The Rose

My eyes wander across fields of daisies
But still the preserved rose pierces my core
Deeply rooted by my soul
Oh but to lie on the grass and make a chain!
Face to the sky, counting the petals I’ve torn
But is the rose evergreen or does it wither and die?
It wants tending to with the greenest fingers
And watching with the tenderest eye
Oh but the daisies how they blossom in spring!
Uncovered and revealed in fullest light
Fields in blossom, indescribable, indistinguishable
Incomparable in beauty the rose and in height
The gardener sweats to arrange the rose bed
Formed, planned, purposed as art
The daisies appear to sprout in any bed
Easy, instant, distant from heart
But when spring is in full bloom
Shall he revel in the rose bed, the fruit of his loom?
Lo! When the barren winter comes
The youth of spring is out of reach
When the bouquet has been tied
And the rose has opened up
Would that my gaze on daisies be tinted pink
And my memory as his who drinks
As I lay to sleep in the well-watered rose garden
Eternal, forever more, until death opens its door