Dreaming in white

The clear morning dew slips
off the soft white petal,
whose untouched visage
peeks out cautiously
under a tender green veil.
Oh fresh scent of spring,
why dost thou hide thyself
under a soft blanket of white,
gently asleep for so long?
The heart of the rose
sings of delighted joy,
marked by ringing laughter
and sweet contentment.
But alas, she is yet
full of youth,
carefree, innocent youth.
She remains untouched
and unblemished,
eyes not yet adjusted
to the brilliant world.

Will ye wait for her bloom?