Silent, still, just like a rose

her beauty in repose.

Who would know?

Is it those, that mock her?

Or even those that pull her thorns?

My, have you earned her scorn.

Pity, she will never love you.

For look, she is re-born as a Queen among heathen.

Forever may she reign.

Whisper, in her ear. Gently.

For she may bruise,or scratch.

You kill her yet hope to revive her.

But look she is a cassonova.....

Forever may she burn, brightly....

My heart-

My soul.