The sun rises
fresh from the sea,
an hour later shines
upon the rose and you
releasing fragrance, revealing hues,
warming petal and skin.
Your gift to me is the rose,
cut and still in the bud.
How can I know the rose,
with its intricate folds and brief life?
Still, I accept your gift
and know it as I can.
Hanque O . . .
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sun-the-rose-and-you/
