The Poet and the Rose

A poet embraced a rose:

“Your scent is so amazing;
join me, while I carry it afar”,
He said with her softly in his arms.

“Beware, When I am held too close,
I prick; if any forgets and only tries
to fondle my petals and carry me.”

“Ah, but a poet is like the wind.
I can tuck your petals swiftly
causing you to giggle in glee and
whisper words that only you can hear.
Then, if your thorns pierce me,
I can dodge and continue, undaunted,
to be close to you for my linking.”

“But, I want to be like the water.
I want to flow freely and wildly,
in every imagined shape. Sometimes,
I want to be the rain, even a storm.
Sometimes a wave, others a whirlpool.
A crystalline lake or perhaps a waterfall.
I am afraid; a wind can not do all of this with me.”

“However, this wind hopes to be a poet
and you will hear as I blow my tune;
If you are single drop, I will make you a pearl;
if you are many, I will talk about the stars.
If you are a wave, I will say you departs but,
returns covering my self with yourself.
If you are the ocean, I will talk about eternity,
as my love for you can be.”

The wind and the water, now, run;
one after the another.