The Red Rose



Stood alone, perfect, yet adrift in a sea of thorns. A splash of colour
to attract a restless eye.

From a bud she did burst forth, to bring fragrance to a darkend heart,
a light to a dreary room, renaissance to a stagnant life.

On that night the stars they blinked, "Could this be?" they gasped in
awe, "could this be, a rose with more beauty than we?"

That night they blinked and stopped to think, "could this be?" In
stillness they watched to wonder agasp how could it be a rose was born
more beautiful than we.

Stephen Hole, Dezember 2003