The Rose I Picked

The rose I picked, majestic gold her hue,
reigns elegant amid her em'rald heirs.
Her sibling buds, submissive in her rule,
concede so gracefully the crown she wears.

By day the sunlight stipples on her face
until her fragile curls begin to yawn.
Blue moonlight sees her silky cloak embrace
her polished petals safe until the dawn.

Unyielding, regally she hails. Her stem,
adorned with thorny guards, defends its queen.
She smiles, this vibrant rose, this precious gem.
In nature’s haven still she reigns supreme.

The rose I picked retains her golden glow.
I picked the perfect place for her to grow.