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There within a crystal vase, A fragile budding rose; Resting there in solitude, Its petals still enclosed. A tender thing of beauty, On a table spread with lace: Turning, reaching toward the sun, To touch and warm its face. Slowly summer sunlight, Drifts through the curtains there; And rests upon the tender bloom, As its fragrance fills the air. So slowly and so gently, The rose begins to bloom; A radiant thing of beauty, That now shares its perfume. There within a tender heart, So like the budding rose; Resting, waiting quietly, Its petals still enclosed. A fragile thing of beauty, Yet broken, bruised and torn; Seeks a soothing, healing touch, To once more make it warm. Surrounded there in solitude, The heart yet yearns to bloom; To give back to another, The gift of sweet perfume. The fragrance of a loving heart, Lies quietly at rest; Crying out to be released, Yearning for a warm caress. For there within each petal, A love beyond compare; Waiting for that tender touch, Its fragrance fills the air. Allison Chambers Coxsey ©1996
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