The Rose

A radiant rose among the dandelions grows
With a beautiful bloom that I cherish more than gold.
Her scent is deep with meaning and clings to my clothes
Yet her beloved lively leaves do droop and fold,

And her flower bows with worry over stolen youth,
And her roots gnash and gnarl over stolen seed.
She sees me with the dandelions and wonders at the truth
For past lies still choke her like a vicious weed.

With a field full of dandelions available to pluck,
The thought haunts my rose that I may succumb to one.
Yet why pluck a dandelion that has the awful luck
To be to my rose as a candle to the sun.

Life has not been kind to my radiant rose
Let my love be the soil in which she grows.