The Rose

The rose was in its still and beauteous bed,

It was standing upright and wisely.

The mesmerizing scent to the garden led 

With its sweet fragrance nicely.

The rose was in a plum-color hue, 

At night, under the white, enthralling moonlight

In the morning, it is crimson in view.

It would sheen with a color so bright.

The rose gazed at the blue flake paint,

The bed was laden with thorns, obstructing the air.

In the moonlight, the hue would be so faint 

Standing so beautiful, so fair. 

The rose had thorns which were spiny,

Making it herculean to touch.

And the rose was sturdy and tiny

And it's scent sprawled too much.

The rose bloomed with stillness,

And was peaceful in the dark.

The rose handled the garden's wilderness

And would see the linnets and larks.

                                                 -Anika Arora

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