Summer Blood

‘Twas a summer day

In the meadow

When I spied her.

She was a beauty,

A youth,

And I loved her.

She trod toward me,

And I could feel my leaves

Grow in pride.

She was to pick me

As her flower,

Her love.

As she neared me,

She smiled…

And I loved her.

She gently reached for me

And my eagerness to be hers

Grew.

As she caressed my proud stem,

She quickly pulled away

And I wept.

A drop of blood ran down my petals,

And the angel ran from the meadow.

“Take no heed to my black petals.

Only my sharp, brazen thorn.

Is it always the harmless rose

Which is chosen to adorn?”

 BRK

July 11, 1990