Desert Rose

She was a seed that
someone threw away,
Now blooming proud
between the rock and sand.
Black velvet, wilting in
the heat of day,
She’s drawing deep for
any hope she can.

I am, myself,
a nomad, Bedouin
Awakened by the
perfume of a rose.
Through thorn and thistle,
hands are pressing in.  
I cannot help but
draw her, pull her close.

Author: thefragrancewriter

Original Blend of Perfume and Poetry View all posts by thefragrancewriter