She was born in the dawn,
Christened by the morning dew
Glowing
Like the heavy crimson petals of a rose,
Lively, and ever so deeply in love.

Yet, with the dusk
As light faded, and the warmth
Of the setting sun gave way
To the pale, cool glimmer of the moon,
She grew tired and old.

Still, in a lifetime of fascinating flowers,
In a garden as vast as the heavens,
None as lovely or vibrant
None as significant,
Or captivating and beautiful.

For a moment, she would blossom,
Driven by a love
Decided by destiny,
Before their time had even begun.

He would call to her in the night
As she lay naked and dazzling,
Whisking her away
Far beyond the clouds and the moon.
To a place where the troubadour,
Covetous of their bond,
Wrote songs of enchantment.
And souls danced to the timeless
Music of the angels.
And she would bloom
Immortal.

She was born in the dawn
Christened by the morning dew,
His Rose.
And as the warmth of the sun faded,
Their love aged,
Evermore.