I found the rose in early September
The petals were ruby red and
it had the most beautiful stem.
It gave me just what I was lacking
The rose's warmth filled my every pore
down to my heart's core.
A dead heart began to beat once more.
I desired that rose and I almost picked it.
But I stopped and walked away.
In my absence another found the rose,
by the time I returned, it was gone.
I learned that day that even
the most delicate roses have thorns.
Now when I think of it I no longer think
of it as a red rose
I only see a Black Rose.