Have you ever loved a rose,

and watched her slowly bloom;

and as her petals would unfold,

you grew drunk on her perfume.

Have you seen her dance,

her leaves all wet with dew;

and quivered with a new romance–

the wind, he loved her too.

Have you ever longer for her,

on nights that go on and on;

for now, her face is all a blur,

like a memory kept too long.

Have you ever loved a rose,

and bled against her thorns;

and swear each night to let her go,

then love her more by dawn.

–Lang Leav