Velvet petal falls, tumbling tear-like,
dripping from mother bud as blood
from a wounded heart.
Valentine victim, so delicate,
innocent of all but lacking love.
Water, like wine, is not enough
to quench the thirst for emotion true.
A thorn may prick the maiden fair,
but a flower’s fate is to crumble,
wilt through lack of air
shared with a beloved.
A rose as lover’s gift is armed
for sharp truths
and sentiment’s dessication.
[Copyright N R Nolan © 2015]