The Perfect Rose

I saw a rose-not just any rose-
it was a perfect rose!
The type that draws admiring glance
and inspires beautiful prose.

Dawn's light like gilt upon the edges;
crimson, velvet petals.
'Tis the grace of morning sun, 
that radiance gently settles.

Upon those shelves of blood-red hue,
rested gems of morning dew.
Encrusted clung those liquid jewels;
crystalline spheres, beaded dew.

Seeing this fleur-di-lis, my mind witnessed
such fragile beauty!
'Twas but the prelude to the miracle
my eyes would yet see...

For at that moment, the sun's beams shone down;
rays upon the dew.
It sparkled, this rose; prismatic fire!
It's beauty only grew.

Emblazoned-indomitable! It wrested
tears from my heart.
I felt awe and need, to again, watch it 
all from the start.

If all things in the world were this majestic, 
then, I suppose,
I would be content, in the company of
this perfect rose.