The Birth of the Rose

Across the green Elysian Fields,
the dead and deathless dance.
They bask in the eternal light,
snared in harmonic trance.

The gentle nymphs dance in the dark,
the forest shade their shield.
Beyond Apollo’s golden gaze,
they yearn to join the Field.

They see their sister break away,
she dances in the sun.
They see their sister stumble down,
her gleaming light grows dun.

Kind Chloris found her lifeless child,
and cradled her and called,
for Gods of Wine, of Love and Wind,
to breathe life in the falled.

“Rise now our child,” they spake. And lo,
sprang up their toil of hours.
No more the verdant nymph that fell,
but Rose – Queen of Flowers.