Yellow Rose.

I’d call you a rose,

With beauty so timeless and rare,

Adored by all who find you,

And no other name would compare.

A yellow rose, to be specific,

A colour I’m not sure you fancy, but calling for you all the same,

Carrying joy so effortlessly, 

Even on days that feel grey.

Oh, my beautiful yellow rose,

I'm sorry I haven't shown you enough.

With petals so soft to touch, and hands so warm to hold,

Always making my heart swell.

“But all roses, my love, have thorns,” you may say,

“Thorns to push people away.”

My darling, but you use your thorns,

To guard what you’ve learnt the hard way.

And so privileged I am,

To be hidden well beneath your coat, safe and red,

To be showered with your care and love,

To be one of the words you fondly say.

I know I haven’t always shown up,

The way you deserved.

I'm sorry for the gaps, the silences,

For it was never, ever a lack of love,

It lives in me, poorly worded and enormous, 

But here, always.

So stay, my yellow flower

Bloom beside me,

Through every season that finds us, 

However they come.

For my A.