Fully Opened Moist And Wet
J
James McLain
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What of the love we speak of
A rose,
A bud not fully opened.
Open moist and wet from the dew
Hummingbirds,
Hovering tight together
Over the top dipping it's beak
There inside.
Rose's with thorns fragrant and full
Have waited,
All night under the moon waiting
For dawn and the sun,
A woman outside, outside in the grass.
Telling me all that I need to know a
Garden of love,
Empathy, compassion tender heart, heart
Of a rose being pruned
By my hand o' how I wait, waiting for love.
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