The rose no one noticed on the tree
No writer penned its irony
Twas outshined by the the true Rose of Sharon,
Whose blood stained white its petals red

The rod that budded lifeless but for the miracle of Choice
The culminating bloom of fruit bearing the seed of a New Humanity
To be sown into the ground and die and to abide alone
The picturesque in a Person more real than sign of stem

But no one noticed that rose,
Only an artist who wasn’t even there
Who knows too many roses he has missed in his lifetime
Who sings now the unsung song
Of the rose upon the tree which no eye could see.