The flower of the Wild Rose
is exquisitely beautiful
But not pretty
They bear fruit
of great healing quality
It's thorns
appear small and innocuous
no matter the layers of clothing
should your path cross it
you bleed.
It's whipped branch
can tear the eyes
out of a man
All its nature
must be accepted
To love it
We walked the city street
shivering that night.
Perhaps too much wine,
But you asked,
in a breath I was not supposed to hear
"Why do you love me?"
Foolishly I have looked too deep
for that answer.
Taken too much time
for it to matter.
It's was so simple.
I do,
because I can.
