The Rose: A Sonnet

A common seed- the thousandth spawn
That knew not fate had kindly blessed
Beheld first light upon a dawn
In a nurtured garden’s soil nest

From the stem there blossomed beauty
Perfumed sweet pink buds awoken
The skillful gardener severed three
Then wrapped tenderly the chosen

Spied I in the florist’s window
Three blessed beacons of my love
Bestowed to her, but her bestowed
In truth to them my splendid dove

For through the rest of their blessed days
Their fortuned fixed glance her face

Identity

Who are we? If we be but two
Are not you me, and I not you?

Deficient cloth from which we’re wrung
Share not we more than the thread spun

The inherent impermanence
Coalesced wonder circumvents

Upon a lawn I’m but one blade
But by the wind do not we sway?

Who then am I? You ask in truth
Am I not me? Are you not you?

Who then are you? If we be two
Disjointed drops of scattered dew

Have I not hopes? Fears same as you?
We be but one- I includes you

Who are we? If we implies two
Are not you me, and I not you?