I lean over and pick one,
Being careful of the thorns,
Part of me as wet as the rose,
As I lean back in the window,
Smelling the rose,
Feeling the softness on my face.

So soft and delicate, the rose,
Untraceable to the finger,
Although, I try,
Gently moving my finger tips,
Along the edges of it's petals,
Then the rose along the edges of my face.

Brushing the rose against my face,
Smelling the rains sweet scent,
Your image appears by the aspen tree outside,
Smiling, while gazing at you,
You blow a kiss,
Filled with the pureness of your heart.

You are like the rose,
Skin, so delicate and soft,
Heart so pure,
Smell so sweet,
Unique in your own way,
Nothing can trace you.

I kiss the rose,
Blowing each petal through the rain,
To your loving image,
One by one, the rose fades,
As does your image,
The last petal blown, as you disappear.

It was then that I knew it was a,
Kiss From A Rose.