A Rose

A rose
Is a rose
And therefore
It burns
As if it were one
That it is

But then
There is dew
The water
Burning slowly
With the petals
And the thorns

The stem
Delicate
And long
Withers
And dies
Just as well

A field
Set ablaze
By one
Single
Hand
Not mine

I still sit
In the center
Engulfed
By the flames
Drowning
As I burn

A rose
Is a rose
And therefore
It burns
As if it were one
That it is