My rose

This very rose within my garden
looks lonely from my point of view.
Those fragile petals, red and glossy,
slightly parted, crown askew.

Her head's inclined as invitation,
her leafs are beckoning from afar.
I tend to give in to her temptation
radiating like a star.

Now watching her from dawn till eve
and even through the night
wakes the innermost desire
not even once to lose this sight.
So very bright, so bright her light.
I never want to leave.

My rose is lonely, tears are falling,
I collect them in a jar.
I tenderly caress the cheek of
my little rose, my littel star.

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