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The Rose

Love's rose blooms bright
A flower of all beauty
In bountiful layers.
And away from that bloom
Longing pierces your heart
And makes it bleed with yearning
As its thorns would pierce the skin.
Yet these thorns most harm
Those who would hold it tightly
Crushing it in fear
Of loosing their grip.
These thorns harm not
Those who hold it carefully
And gently, for they know
To trust in themselves
To keep it safe.