It may be a painful prick to fingers,
or a silky smooth touch to the lips;
a beauteous tribute to romantic love,
or a yearning sadness to loss that rips
your heart from its mooring secure.

'Tis the color of blood, the river of life,
on a jewel-green stem as its lofty throne;
it rules the ocean of love's domain
as lustful thoughts do its rapiers hone,
and its softest petals do kind hearts lure.

It seems to succor the faithful heart,
fulfill the fantasies of the mind;
but just as its beauty exalts the soul
and spirit to pleasure of senses sublime -
it starts to wither and lose its allure.

But oh, lost love will never forget
the brilliant color and heavenly scent,
the blush of blooming promise true
and silkeny petals opulent
that will other loves forever obscure.
     ©  Joyce P. Hale  10/2006

Photo by J.Hale