In morning’s hush, the roses wake,
Their petals soft as breath they take.
A crimson tide begins to rush,
Upon their cheeks—a gentle blush.
The sky, once pale, now tinged with flame,
As dawn arrives without a name.
It paints the clouds in modest flush,
The sun itself begins to blush.
A glance exchanged, a whispered word,
More felt than seen, more sensed than heard.
And in that pause, that fleeting hush,
Two hearts collide in silent blush.
Not shame, nor fear, nor bashful sin,
But something blooming deep within—
A truth too tender, light to crush:
Love’s first breath… and its sacred blush.
Written for Linda G Hill’s stream of consciousness Saturday prompt
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