The White Rose

by Angelo Bertolli

I find myself in a field of roses
There are roses all around
They are of all the different colors
Creating iridescent ground

A particular rose grabs my eye
Seeming radiant in the light
How innocent it seems, how sweet
This rose I see is white

I reach to touch the glistening petal
Then decide to make it mine
No sooner to reach the base
Then a thorn draws red wine

As Pain drips from my fingers, I realize
The rose's fire burns red hot
I singed my hand in the flame
To reach the rose, so far to walk

So I walk the path that leads there
Always learning along the way
We must choose our path of destiny
And then walk it, night and day

Once I thought that I was near
But the path twists and turns
Will I ever reach my rose
Always reminded by its burns

A voice whispers to stop and smell
Other roses with each passing step
I cannot take my eyes from the one
Nor take time to stop my trek

Perhaps I would if they called to me
But who talks to flowers?