ROSE  

I see a rose, a beautiful pink rose,
It's not blossomed today, but sure still is fresh,
For I can feel it in the air,
but am too far away to smell its fragrance.

I'm urged to go closer to the rose,
and smell its fragrance for sure,
but there is one thing, of which I'm unsure,
Its the thorns which it might bear,

Its not the sting that I fear,
For that's too less a pain to bear,
To smell the beautiful pink rose,
which has just begun to fade with age.

My heart skips a beat, the moment I think,
That I will have to die one day,
Without having had a chance to taste,
The sweetness of this beautiful pink rose.

Its petals are soft and wet,
with early morning's dew, I guess,
And even in the afternoon of its life,
The water on its petals refuse to wear.

It sure attracts the thirsty mouth,
to taste its splendour and sweetness,
But to many a mouth like mine, its just a mirage,
A view possible only from far.

My mind begins to wonder,
Have the ones who  tasted this rose,
Ever felt its sweetness,
And appreciated all the rich flavour it bore.

For that is the irony of this world,
You never know your bird's worth,
till the day it flies from your nest,
And reaches the garden out there, with the rest.

~Deep~

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