Honeyed Rose

Her hands are cupped around

A rose,

Perfectly red petals

Curling to the center,

Where she has stored her heart;

With fingers speckled with cuts,

She has picked me

A rose,

Has stopped to smell a flower

And all of its loveliness,

To bring just a little sweetness

Into our world,

Amidst people watching

With ridicule tainting the kindness

Whispered all around them;

Despite the way coldness

Has become expected,

With out-of-the-way benevolence

Seen as a nuisance,

Her heart has swelled enough

To wield itself with hope

And joy

Against the thorns

Along the stem;

And now she has offered me

A honeyed drop of the kindness

Dripping from her heart,

The heart that has decided it more important

To pick me

A rose.