There are those that like a fresh budded rose.
They are drawn to how it stands out among the dozen… how the petals are fastened and closed tight… protecting it’s center.
But once it starts to unfurl, and it’s fragrance fills the air, and it’s brilliant color fades to a muted shade, their interest wanes.
The thorns that make their stems resilient are viewed as obstacles that keep the ‘tender’ at arms length. But the rose knows…
The rose knows that the one meant for her will brave the thorns with bloodied palms if need be, in order to hold her with arms that hold… without witholding.
To love is brave. He is a warrior.
Image of Roses Poem