Wayne Orr

In twilight’s hush, where shadows play,
Amidst the blooms, a queen holds sway,
The white rose, pure and fair to see,
A vision of loveliness, for you and me.

Her petals soft, like silk to touch,
Unfurl to reveal a gentle clutch,
A delicate dance, of subtle might,
A whispered promise, of peaceful night.

In myth and legend, her tale is told,
Of innocence, of love that’s bold,
A symbol too, of reverence and respect,
A tribute paid, to hearts that inspect.

Her beauty is not just to behold,
But a reminder, of stories untold,
Of love and loss, of joy and strife,
A poignant reminder, of the fragility of life.

Yet, even in death, her beauty reigns,
For in her fleeting life, we find the stains,
Of memories that linger, long after she’s gone,
A bittersweet reminder, of love that’s been sung.

Oh, white rose, queen of the garden fair,
Forever in our hearts, your beauty will be there,
A symbol of hope, of love that’s true,
A gentle reminder, of the beauty that shines through.