thorn bush needle tree bare
air spiked striker at the year
dying back head deaded pruned
your sap gathers toward growth
a summation of all your points
all it’s left to you to be
delicate, silk petal fragrant flesh
concentrate of beauty’s hope
the natural conclusion
to your briar scratch upon the world

A. H / K. H-H (20th July 2020)

try two of my other poems about roses –

Albertine

and more recently:

some tide has moved the season of a heart