A Rose For a Gentle Stranger

Touched, not to be picked from the thorny bush
but to finger the wilted edges in disdain
to feel the crunch of the damaged petals beneath your finger tips

But your hand tremor, with what?
strained gentleness
Are you afraid of the delicate flower?
or afraid for it?

My edges are brittle but i can assure you
the rest of me is vibrant red

His heart be not warm for the rest
but each stroke from the gentle stranger
I'm certain will be the last

He knows not how to be gentle
the caresses too rough
but he tries enough