MY RED ROSE

MY RED ROSE
Protected from the sphere of weather,
under the nursery of my heart,
and in the soil of my mind,
She sprouts and blooms
with all her luminance,
My Red Rose!
It's not the worried rose
that you love to present
on the Valentine's Day;
it's not the dismayed one
that you use
on the funeral day;
nor the seasoned flower
that you offer
on the ritual function.
But she is the happy rose,
that dances in the music of waft,
and sings on the lap of the dell.
It's not the kind of the blossom
that grows in the fancy of a poet,
nor the red rose that sits timidly
on the edge of the breast.
But my Sweet Rose;
the spark in the wilderness,
the delight in the woeful heart.
© Imo thokchom