The Flower

When I think of what kind of flower she would be...

In a field of flowers
you stand above all
like a white gold tower
such ease to enthrall

A blood red center
from dark to light
a color none better
compliments white

A perfect combination
all white and some red
fills the imagination
distorting the head

With golden petals
that shine like the sun
warmth that melts metals
ripe with compassion

None can deny
for refusal is mad
with you in their eye
and turning their back

To hold you in hand
a blessing of itself
with others too bland
and deserving the shelf

But you deserve a vase
with colors of the sky
and some one to appreciate
the beauty within your sight

If only you could see
how lucky one would be
to call you their own
and feel so complete