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She was only a rosebud
when she first came to the Master
though closed,
He could smell the subtle scent
of his treasured flower.
He nurtured His precious rosebud
fed her, quenched her thirst...
pruned her.
As the Master pruned
a miracle occurred
with each naughty petal he stripped from her
a fuller and more vibrant petal replaced it.
The Rose loved the Master's care
and as the Rose's love grew
the color turned from the deepest red
to the glossiest black.
How could a black rose hold love?
The Master was discouraged
for all his love and nurturing
his precious Rose had lost the
color of true love...red.
The Master decided to pluck the Rose
He bent the rose to pull and the rose tore...
it had been pierced by a thorn.
The rose bled.
though bruised by the Master
the rose stood it's tallest
it's full bloom and scent emerging.
The Master kissed the rose well.
he realized the blood of the rose
was the true love inside.
For unlike simple red roses...
The black rose's passion
lies hidden,
until summoned
by the Master.
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