The Rose

[azi_vajravai]

In the morning I see
On the thorny bush
A vivid pink bud of a rose

The bud is so sweet and Beautiful
That I weep because
The wall of thorns
And tightly closed posture of the bud
Keep me away from it's sweetness

I watch this bud.
I watch as the warm glowing sun
Teazes the bud with it's delicate
Golden fingers
Gently coaxing the bud to relax
Touching like a feather,
Its bright
Pink
Velvety
Soft
Petals.

The patience and warmth
Of the generous sun
Encourages the bud to slowly open
Slowly open
Slowly open
Spreading wide its
Silky
Soft
Petals of
Pink
Dripping with the early morning's dew.

Once the beautiful flower
Is open wide
Its fragrant aroma fills the air,
Swirling around as the scent of Joy and Love.
This lovely smell attracts the attention
Of a buzzing,
Yellow,
Honey
Bee

Who alights upon the innermost parts
Of the delicate flower
And begins to lap up the deliciously sweet nectar
With its skilled and gently probing tongue.

When the bee had its fill and buzzed off,
and the sun,
Now reddish orange
went off to sleep
I thank them for opening up
This delicate shielded beauty.
And smile.