Spring rays lick familiar peaks,
Ignite the countless pearls of dew,
Tag dancing shadows ‘neath the peaks,
Grant clarity to nature’s hues.

Though yesterday such beauty logged,
Now callous, all escapes my gaze,
‘Till as if burning valley fog,
A single beam consumes my daze.

Amidst the thicket, moss and mire,
Flora heretofore concealed,
Illumined, that gods may admire,
One solitary bud revealed.

Upon approach I view it’s bloom,
Slumbering passions bid to flow,
I lay the blade to make mine own,
This virgin alabaster rose.

Drawn by its beauty, firm I grasp,
Across my lips silk petals slide,
Subsumed by warmth, I long will last,
Its gift of fragrance undenied.

Its form ‘till death I pray to view,
This bloom of constant purity,
But hand holds not this blossom’s fate,
Not mine, but if it were to be . . . 

When laid to my eternal rest,
My soul from body finally free,
I’d wear this rose upon my chest,
My trove, for heaven’s host to see.

But order overcomes my will,
In need of drink, the blossom turns,
Now frigid from some bitter chill,
I seek the cause, devotion spurned.

In days to come, my anguished lot,
I’ll ponder, head in thorn scarred hands,
And pray the Spirit of the Earth,
Breathe life into this rose again.

*** Copyright 7/03 Ed Adair ***