Soft, your petals catch the play of light,
Sweet, the scent you send into the day,
Pinned on silk gowns swishing in the night,
Your promise is true love; come what may.
Sometimes you grow wild, on rocks and clay,
Bringing smiles of joy in a barren place,
Lost travellers in mazes of dismay
Uncover the heart, in another’s face.
Beauty’s father plucked you once, for grace,
Yet found he lost more than he could bear;
A Beast claimed Beauty, a tight embrace,
The rose grew sharp thorns to clear the air.
What then, of desiring Beauty’s spell?
Set her free and she will love you well.
This sonnet uses Spenser’s rhyme a b a b b c b c c d c d e e.
Published in Frog Croon, Spetember 2011, Issue 8