I followed the dim sequel of a bright commencement to its center,
but it bled into a jar of sugar.
I walked away on a sphere to the west to hide from the red dagga that invaded my lung,
but the jester approached as I rang from the east.
Then, a fluke of the mind dazzled with scintillescent eyes that stared at me,
so close I could scent the intelligent mint on the breath of beauty.
But it was nigh with naught, fleeting as it was,
that I took against absence and to where sooth betrayed.
In its stead, I reached from the fugue and grabbed Nothing that I could see,
but it bit me copiously, yet winded the murk asunder.
And when I saw the paladin, it was not the thorn for which I bled,
nor the spine I foresaw.
It was the owner, atop its impossibly thin pedestal.
Sanguine and preternatural,
I tempted a glimpse,
and by the mind,
it became,
The Rose