The blood-red bloom of the Burzee Rose.
Honey fire scents the air
Drawing creatures everywhere.
Blooms like fists, wounding thorns,With saw-toothed emerald leaves adorned,
It numbs the nose and draws the skin
To touch and bleed and touch again.
It is a wonder to behold,
A present from the days of old.
Still it grows in deep distress
And every year it comes back less.
In a time already near
No one left will find it there.
Children in the woods for fun
Secret lovers on the run
Will miss the scent as they pass by.
Someday soon the rose will die.
In the heart of Burzee grows
The shrinking wonder of the rose.
Find it, find it, while you may.
The best things all will pass away.
