In the delicately shrouded heart
of this white rose, a patient eye,
the eye of love.
Knows who I am, and where I've been
tonight and what I've done.
I have been watching the white rose
For hours imagining
each tremor of each petal to be like a breath
that silences and soothes.
" Look at it," I'd say to you
if you were here :
"It is a sign of what is brief,
and lonely and in love."
But you have gone and so I'll call it wise:
A patient breath, an eye, a rose
that opens up too easily and dies.
by Ian Hamilton ( 1938-2001)