The sun rises br fresh from the sea, br an hour later shines br upon the rose and you br br releasing fragrance, revealing hues, br warming petal and skin. br Your gift to me is the rose, br cut and still in the bud. br br How can I know the rose, br with its intricate folds and brief life? br Still, I accept your gift br and know it as I can.br br Hanque O . . .