Fools Gold

This is poem was writen as A Riddle - what am I? Answer: Infatuation

A firefly on a moonless night,
A candle not the sun,
The rose who witnesses awkward speech,
A touch exchanged by trembling hands.
I no answer to the plead-
  am the thorns that force a heart to bleed.
A glittering spell born a laugh not to last.