Past heaven’s gate, I should like to know
How came the crimson color
Of the rose?
“Warning,” we alarm in red,
And so the widow on her sordid web –
Or is it an invitation? Love is sticky
Business, it would seem:
Desirous to both devour,
And be licked clean.
Crimson’s warm like a loving heart
And deep, as love’s not shallow.
But crimson red was drawn, too, by Cain
As love and hatred want the same:
Had the rose yet bloomed in Eden
When Eve yet loved her spouse?
Or did her thorny spine proceed
From the bloodied soil ‘neath Abel’s head:
At the germination of that apple’s seed,
The first rose grow in its stead?