The Blooms Of Woman

                               Image

I am the rose that blooms in the morning

Wet with the kiss of dew

I am given in love, apology and mourning

My scent is skies of blue

 

I have a thorn awaiting the unwary hand

That seeks to hold too tightly

With Heart nor eyes may you understand

When I close my petals nightly

 

I am the mystery of woman, a scent on the breeze

Not to pluck, to keep, to own

My secrets known only to the courting of bees

And the Earth from which I’ve grown

 

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