By W.G. Quixote
Date: 21 May 1997

An Offering

Today by the altar I spied a rose,
prayerfully posed, blushing through ripe green leaves,
whispering its beauty to one who believes
that quietly yet riotously love grows.
Perhaps it sees,maybe it knows
that hornets come not as lovers but as thieves,
that even the florist's practiced hand deceives,
cutting quick the stem when first bloom shows.

I could not betray this incensed flower
which unfolds mysteries with each petal.
I would twine its bulb within my bower
and mind it with kindness and mettle.

For in my own heart was set a seed
I pray will flower and not come to weed.