Dew sparkles on the freshly picked rose.

The smell is almost too sweet to bear.

I hear the pitter-patter on the deck outside

My safe hollow of trees.

Here in the dreary sunrise I can hear the birds,

See the bright orange glow just past the horizon,

And hope that no one else knows

Of my little safe place,

My little hideaway.

Footsteps draw nearer,

I tighten my grip on the rose,

Causing the brittle thorns to press through my skin.

I pull in a breath,

Nearer they come.

Silently I send up a prayer,

I thought no one else knew where I was.

A dark shape moves across and past.

I allow myself a small and cautious breath.