The Rose

I wonder how the petals of a rose grow outward?
Or why the petals of a thorn grow inward?
Can you tell me?  Do you know?
                                                Does no one know?

The petals open with fragrant blush,
Tempting, reaching out to touch,
Drink deep, breathe deep, awaken,
                                                 Dare to dream.

The sting of a thorn, a lost breath,
Awaits those who pluck the rose,
Drink, fill with it's fragrance,
It must be free, I must be free
                                                   Dare to be.

Sheryl Hamilton Chaney
Essays And Papers
Falls And Fantasies
Favorite Places
Shakespearian Festival
My Prose
Summer Fun
White Dove Flying