I

Oh sweet life, who am I.
I who dwell in my own sadness?
I who laughs and is bewilderdly ammused?
I who recoil in my own spiteful temper?

If life art a garden,
I am the rose,
Who seeks the attention,
To admire,
Maybe love.

But beware, do not get close,
Then thou wilt see my thorns,
Stay far,
And wonder, what secrets I bear.

I fear, I fear that I am your fall,
But perhaps,
Thou wilt suffer the thorns.

Then I wilt find my place outside this garden,
As yours. Only yours.

-Claire Angel-

*not an original Edenia poem