Beneath the dawn’s first tender glow,
The red rose blooms, her petals show,
A velvet blush, a scarlet flare,
Yearning whispers fill the air.
She dreams of wings, a fleeting sight,
A butterfly in morning light.
Her fragrance calls, a soft embrace,
To draw him near her sacred space.
With gentle wings, he dances by,
A fleeting joy, a tender sigh.
Yet in her heart, a longing grows,
For his return, the red rose knows.
But fleeting is the butterfly’s flight,
A love that grieves in the moon’s pale light.
Though rooted firm, the rose still prays,
For wings to pause in her embrace.
Eternal love, though moments brief,
Blooms in her heart with joyful grief.
