The promise in a rose

What is it that stops my heart
when I see the rose?
Is it the softness of the petals --
so like a baby's cheek?
The play of light
on her delicate curves?
Her remarkable presence,
containing -- as it surely does --
awareness of past bud and future fade?
Perhaps it's this:
a promise that this process,
this stripping away and revelation
is no longer an onion, but a rose;
not smelly skins, but petals,
whose fragrance draws us
ever closer to You.


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