Copper Rose

Down, way down below echo's sound,
far beneath where time is found.
There is a rose with tarnish thus,
broken thistles, waters rush.

The rose embedded in martyred stone,
without a touch it sits alone.
Many have come, gone and went,
never knowing what was not sent.

Reddened bricks stacked one by one,
up around with no view of the sun.
Not a single light shines in,
yet the rose it lives within.

It never dies, can never see,
yet it waits to be set free.
There is an urge one can't deny,
and so to pass unanswered why.

For the bud cannot wake up to bloom,
without another it seals it's tomb.
It will continue to sit and wait,
wanting only for the love of fate.

Diana Nelson 2001