Saturday, March 31, 2007


Aurora hidden in the vines,
Awaiting the one to wake her.
A kiss starts the rose to bloom,
The bud's scent speaks of love,
Yet it never fully blossoms.
Not content with scent alone,
The one searches for other flowers.

The light has fallen from the sky,
The rose withers in the dark.
A ray of light illumes the endless night,
The rose blooms for herself alone.
The first bloom is ever present and unending,
As the rose buds afresh.

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