THE WHITE ROSE Angelo Bertolli I find myself in a field of roses There are roses all around They are of all the different colors Creating iridescent ground A particular rose grabs my eye Seeming radiant in the light How innocent it seems, how sweet This rose I see is white I reach to touch the glistening petal Then decide to make it mine No sooner to reach the base Then a thorn draws red wine As Pain drips from my fingers, I realize The rose's fire burns red hot I singed my hand in the flame To reach the rose, so far to walk So I walk the path that leads there Always learning along the way We must choose our path of destiny And then walk it, night and day Once I though that I was near But the path twists and turns Will I ever reach my rose Always reminded by its burns A voice whispers to stop and smell Other roses with each passing step I cannot take my eyes from the one Nor take time to stop my trek Perhaps I would if they called to me But who talks to flowers?