A Yellow Rose

by: Leanne Pippin

©Copyright 2005

There is an exceptional flower

That grows amidst some thorns.
Her complexion is that of happiness,
Yet everyday she mourns.

Her petals are like satin,
Each one fragile to the touch.
They're too delicate to handle
Within a careless clutch.

Her leaves are like a blanket
To wrap her when it's cold,
They also catch the dew drops
That convey her hue of gold.

Her stem is much less delicate
And stands to face each day,
And even when she forgets her strength,
She somehow finds her way.

The thorns that she displays
Are fears that have come true,
So remember when youre pricked by one,
That she is hurting too.

For if you look quite closely,
You'll see her pain within.
And maybe with a little time,
She'll show you where she's been.

For she has often taken damage,
When storms do roar and bellow,
Then hides her scars quite cleverly,
Beneath her shade of yellow.

She weeps beneath the brambles,
When the rain is long delayed,
Then scrambles for the sunlight,
When they trap her in the shade.

She's a vision in the sunrise,
When the sparkling dew does glow,
A queen within her glory,
Destined for the show.

She's the mother in my memories,
My friend and more, life long.
The Yellow Rose envisioned,
In every dream and song.