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