Rose

You found me as a rose,
As you were scanning the rows,

Of the most curious garden,
Who brought warmth to harden.

So,
What did you do, then?
You picked the wild rose,
And tore at her stem.

You might as well,
Have brought a head to a horseman.
You did not pull roots,
From places that never had them.

But,
Sweetheart,
You did not bring mayhem.

You,
Instead,
Dressed a jewel of the season.

You pacified a knife,
From an assassin.
You picked a feral rose,
And I haven’t.

Turns out,
Things grow,
If you would just let them.