..............

Twelve red ones, rich, full and just right

the twigs cut, thorns removed

deft hands tie them in a bunch; the last one; for her

She’ll never get them, but still they’re made

unsurpassed beauty they hold

beauty, sure to wither away with the distance

It’s the day, when lovers love, others try

a bunch falls short, a ‘voice’ pleads

but this was for her, how would he part

He hands it over, the ‘voice’ is ecstatic

did he do her wrong, the only gift for her?

saddened he returns to his den

His eyes catch a red; untouched, yet thornless

the richest; the fullest; the brightest

The best still lay there, waiting, for him to give to her