First rose

A heart of youthful year was yearning,

Crying out the pain; the burning

Tears would e’er remain until

An answer from the man would see them die.

A sympathetic mirror blessed her –

Softened up the curves, caressed her

Skin to help regain a calm –

Assuage a heaving breast and blushing eye.

And through a struggling mind, a chiming:

Someone at the door; the timing

Perfect and exquisite in the

Reconciliation of her woes.