I am a rose, you are my thorns, clutchin to me, protecting me.
I am the sun, you are my rays, helping me to shine and to be that I can.
I am a lake, you are my water, filling me with ideas,dreams, and hopes for the fuure.
I am a tree, you are my leaves, sharing who and what I am and becoming an important part of life.
I am a heart, you are my beat, beating rhythmiclly to my happiness,
my fear, my sandness, my excitement.
I am meand you are with me, to share all that I am, to share life,love, and happiness.


Always

My guardian angel, once careless and free,
flew into the clouds and lost touch with me.
Her tears were cold and wet, falling on my face.
Her smile had left us without a trace.

Her angelic lips quivered, frozen and scared,
I felt rain clouds visiting, and had to prepare.
I knew that angels, often content,
were very special presents that God had sent.

To see one so sad,
so afraid,
so alone,
had made me weep while the cold winds had blown.

Her wings lost feathers,
comforting and soft,
falling from the stars,
floating aloft.

Her pain was felt throughout the land,
to feel true misery is impossible to stand.
I prayed so that when her hurting stops,
I'll be able to taste the angel's teardrops.

Like a humming bird
you flit throughout the garden
hovering over the most beautiful flowers
sampling their nectar
and tasting their honey

You are obsessed with their brightness
and their fragrance that last for so short a time
you cannot see past the colors
or realize that their exotic beauty is only temporary
never looking to the center of the garden

There a simple Irish rose sits
so pale, so delicate, yet so strong
her beauty is not so brilliant as those of the exotic flowers
but her beauty will out last theirs
for her beauty comes from deep within the her

Yet the little Irish rose is sad
for you barely notice she is there
you fly past her....
allowing your wings to brush her with your warmth
but you only glance at her
and once again you are off to the others in the garden

That which you assumed to be dew drops
on her lovely petals, are actually tears
for she silently cries in her love for you
she yearns for your touch
to feel your wings kissing her petals
to feel you probe within her depths, to sample her nectar

As night approaches...
and the other flowers start to fade and die away
you come to rest on her branches
branches which are strong and true
and you sleep in the comfort that she offers you
where she shelters you with her love

And at the dawn, once again you abandon her
to seek the new days beauty in the garden.
Ignoring her loneliness, her tears
day in and day out, you take refuge in her branches
till one night you come flying in to take your rest

And you see she has wilted away
that you have wasted so much time
amongst the other flowers in the garden
that you did not notice that she was dying
that she could not hold out forever

Her petals now scattered across the ground
her dreams blown about by the wind
and no more can she share them with you
as too late, you see that the little Irish rose
was your haven and your home