The White Rose
In twilight's hush, where shadows dawn unfurl,
A white rose blooms, a radiant, lucent pearl.
Lucifer's gleam, the morning star's first cry,
A spark eternal, piercing dream's veiled sky.
Not flame that burns, but light that softly holds,
A gentle harbor where the weary soul unfolds.
In depths of silence, purest love takes root,
Where devotion whispers, tender and absolute.
When vesper falls and night's dark tides converge,
Its sacred glow no shadow can submerge.
A beacon fierce through gloom's unyielding sway,
It guides the wayward with its steadfast ray.
Yet not mere flame, nor fire's ephemeral art,
It breathes devotion, cradling soul and heart.
Pure as frost's veil, yet fierce as starlight's blaze,
A rose of longing, wreathed in love's soft praise.
Like waters deep that hold without demand,
This white rose opens with a gentle hand.
In submersion sweet, the spirit finds its home,
Where love enfolds and never leaves alone.
No passion's heat, but tender depths untold,
Where souls surrender to be softly held.
A womb of light, a sanctuary true,
Where morning's star makes all things born anew.
To cradle this rose is to trace the divine,
A path of fervor, where faith and truth align.
In soft embrace that knows no earthly bound,
The heart's true temple, sacred and profound.
A star, a bloom, a vow, a sacred sign—
The first light's glory, love's eternal shrine.
Where white rose petals hold the soul complete,
In depths of grace, where earth and heaven meet.
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