Blood Red Rose
In the hour before sunrise
when the shadows hustle home
and the owls dream of day-break
and the redwoods softly moan
I have often begged for magic
to bring my true love home.
but the sunrise only shows
how well my garden grows
in the heat of a single blood-red rose
These eyes, no good for darkness,
rely upon the tenderness
of shadows for their passion
And the branches slowly twist
tangled promise with a kiss
only lovers can imagine
I have often begged for morning
confessing all she knows,
but the sunrise only shows
how well my garden grows
in the heat of a blood-red rose
In the hours of my morning
In the vision of the light
lay the afternoon and evening
and a promise of the night
I have often begged for darkness
to still these trembling hands,
but the sunrise only shows
how well my garden grows
in the heat of the blood-red sand
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