Crown Of Roses Poem by M. A Heathcote

Love exudes a sticky pine sap; it extols
A resin that'll encapsulate your soul
Love is a bee in a red hibiscus flower.
Drunkenly, he sings, 'Maybe this is my final hour.'
Love is a savant, all-knowing and unexplained.
His amber unfastens; songs still refrained.
Stops the sun and moon from spinning on their axis;
Banishes all space and time, anything too factious
Love is a mantra; nothing is a faux pas.
A mantra, my child, shall I promise you, alas.
It's neither a beginning nor an end as such.
So, rose gardener Lord, feed me, mulch me
Until then, let me dance in the dew-soaked earth,
Then lock me away in a rosary of mysteries with you.