The Rose
He saw the rose
And all around the rose an aura glowed
Enveloping the rose, as if
It was the rose itself
That glowed
And when the breezes blew
The rose, and aura, moved
As one – with grace and ease
And beauty, such as that he thought he’d never see
There was no love within his heart
That day, nor none he held apart,
Nor beauty much to be desired
To set his raging soul afire
Yet something there about the glow
Which held him, lo –
The splendid aura of the rose
Arrested all his thought
And made him doubt
All that he thought, and thought about –
And then he started to,
As one who long ago had died
Sudden springing back to life, alive!
For what he saw without reproof
Was nothing but the true unyielding truth –
‘Twas not the aura set apart
Enveloping the rose with outer glow,
But an inner flame within the rose
That burned – that burned! –
Out of which both rose and aura glowed –
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