Poetry is like a flaming red-red rose, still but enchanting while it glows.
Beautiful and lovely as it unfolds.
Too much elegance and grace for anyone to hold.
Bashful and small hiding from all.
Divine like an angel, upon while you take a glaze.
Pure and magnificent as rain drops fall and fade.
Looking down, down into a trapped maze.
Soft and swift as wind catches a drift.
Sweet and clean as diamonds shine and gleam.
Slender and smooth as an shiny white tooth.
Sheltered by sharp thorny forces.
Guarded by the sun and moonlight voices.
Too much life and pride to stand there and die.
As you sit there and wonder why?
Life can't just pass them by.
As you want them to live day by day.
Each day you can only wish and pray.
To see them burst up with life.
To see them shine and come alive.
To see that flaming red-red rose, still glittering and blazing outside.