Moonlit Rose

The warm glow of the harvest moon,
Shines across the land,
Illuminating the dew sprinkled leaves,
Making the countryside glitter,
Such a masterpiece is seen,
Yet only before mourn arises.


The midmorning forest shimmers,
Like a silent stream in the moonlight,
Reflecting the trees and brush,
On it’s surface looking like a dream,
A beauty beheld once a year,
During the harvest festival.


Deep within the forest is a very rare flower,
A flock of roses,
But no ordinary roses,
Ones that bloom by the light of the moon,
There ethereal glow is enchanting,
Seeming almost alien.


The wide petals that glow eerily,
Yet is a sight not to glance away from,
Long stalks of silver-like flesh,
Glistening like a dragons cache of riches,
A sweet yet bitter scent,
Somewhat like an alluring perfume.


These beauties must never be picked,
They wither once they are removed from the forest,
Once they are gone,
They will never grow again,
Like and endangered species,
Barely any remain.


These roses should be untouched by the hand of man,
Like the love that they may hold,
Delicate hands of nature nourish them,
And smooth their silken petals,
Breathing life into them,
So they may live yet another eternity.