A rose gave up her secret
A rose gave up her secret
Of its origin – of its beauty –
In the shadow of her crescent—
Fiercely hushed once to me.
She told me of a plan of love
And a Master Gardener who
Has a touch of silver that betrothed
The rose to the morning dew
And described a plane in between
Nothing and a foundation—
The design of which is unbreached—
That lies in an unmeasured dimension
But her exact words were lost
To the enjambment of my memory—
Moreover – my comprehension lapsed –
Found lost inextricably.
