THE PRICKING OF MY THUMBS

As I sought a flower to brighten my life
Fate chose to send me a Perfect Rose
Surrounded by interesting floral friends 
Each competing for my attentions in their own right
By calling this a Perfect Rose I compliment Fate's gift
For my rose has not only the beauty and the symmetry of color
But as with anything of substance; she carries lightly sheathed thorns
Unnoticed in daily life but sharp, penetrating in the passion of the moment
These sharp barbs are defensive, never used in malice or retribution
Also when I say Fate gave me a Rose I mean the entire Plant
Judge not a plant by merely it's bloom, however beautiful and aromatic
Take it instead from it's ever deepening roots finding foothold in the soil
Raising your sights to the base and ever winding heart pumping sap
Thickening strength giving way to gentler stems and leaves
Only then arriving at the culmination of sweat and time most patient
This bud that I hold dear, blossoming before me comes at a cost
I pluck this Token from my Perfect Rose not destructively but in respect
Each petal tells a story as with a page gently read and in turn enjoyed
So does my Rose speak poetic volumes that only I read as if by touch
Yet should I give undue haste or neglect to observe proper respect
My blood will be drawn faster than quicksilver by her dutiful thorns
These droplets of blood reminding us both of the proper order of life
They also serve willing sacrifice and respectful gifts of life's blood
More often than not seeping down into the soil to her roots
If blood were her only need I would gladly drain my last for her
But she needs not that only my Love and tender, careful attentions
Here in the garden that Fate has lent me to care and tend to I do stay
Happy in the knowledge that my love is returned with every season
Through the pricking of my thumbs on a most Perfect Rose