The Frog

 I fell in love
when first I saw a rose
too young to see and
understand its beauty,
Why the bee sucks
and hovers round the bud.
The rose hip syrup
on the Christmas table
sweet and sour delights.
The water lily too
the gold-fin in the lake,
petals whiter than the rose,
resting in the fountain's shade
the frog waiting to be kissed,
before the petals closed.
It was then I saw the rose,
Was then I understood.