The Rose

I took a picture of a rose,

It's petals red and full,

To hang it on my wall one day,

And remember its brilliant hue.

It rose above the vase so tall,

And I leaned over to breathe it in,

So tender and so delicate,

Like our hearts within.

It hung its brilliant head,

Ever softly above the rim,

Bent in sorrow or reverence,

As if singing a silent hymn.

And so I closed my eyes,

And placed my hand on top my heart,

And felt the blood deep in my veins,

And in its counterpart.

© Erica Day McCarthy, San Antonio, Texas - 26 August 2018