Yea, though you hide among thorns







XXXI Days of Poetry  (MMXII) - Day 










Yea, though you hide among thorns




You are my ripe perfect rosebud.
Your delicate petals open up to me,
Wet with your dew, sharply sweet.
Yea, though you hide among thorns,
Still shall I bend to you, and inhale
Your intoxicating fragrance.

Now and forevermore.









(picture: "Black Thorn, White Rose" by Thomas Canty)


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"And he called out Rosebud, with his dying breath."





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