The Morning Rose

I tried to reach for it's beauty.

Yet, I stain it's white perfection, 

With the crimson of my blood.

Of course I could never tangle with it's thorns. 

It is freshly caressed with the kisses of a new dawn.

It sways gently,

Letting only the rain cling to it's fragile form,

Like tears, glittering in the skies warmth.

It tickles with the promise that it will someday reach the stars.

I will leave it be, till the moon devours the day.

Though I will always ponder if,

By any other name would it smell as sweet?